Current location:	Kitchen Table
Current mood:	determined
Current music:	Train Wreck - Sarah McLachlan
Entry tags:	fantasy, original fiction

Blood & Silver Cha. 1
My original fiction that i am editing/rewriting.

Any and All Feedback is desperately needed and greatly appreciated!

I don’t know how long I lay there before I noticed her standing before me. Her hand reached out, patiently, as if offering help. Covered in small scars across the knuckles, palm, and fingers, her hands held the telltale marks of swordplay. There was nothing perplexing about her, just a courteous Warrior helping a disadvantaged stranger out of a ditch, until my gaze followed up her arm to her face.

She was not a particularly pretty creature. She could not have been over thirty years old; her auburn hair had not a speck of silver, her oddly familiar face had no lines or creases. What struck me the most was her extraordinarily blue eyes.

They gazed at me with an enormous sense of purpose. Suddenly I felt not as if I was a downcast and beaten failure but like I was meant for something much, much more far-reaching. Sometimes strength and faith are restored in a small instance; other times, it takes the weight of destiny before it is possible to move on. I was aware at that moment that I was wounded and heartbroken, yet offered more than help out of a soaking ditch in the middle of a winter’s night. I had the chance to meet fate. All I had to do was take her hand.

My mind grew wary. What help, if any, had the gods given me? Outcast from my home, I never found a sense of belonging. How could I not exchange a single word with this woman and feel the overwhelming need to follow her?

Her eyes. It was her eyes, I realized. You can distrust me, they told me, you can loathe me, envy me, or doubt me, but in all unknown places inside and outside of yourself, all you ever need is to have faith in me. I will give you strength and lead you through.

How such a span of a few short minutes could change my life, I will never understand. All I know nothing was the same after I clasped her hand.

* * * *

Ashlund Kaemore started, waking with the same jolt that he had every night since hearing the last words Firiea Kahlor said to him as she parted his company: This is not over yet. Wait for it. Every night, he woke with the same startled reaction, expecting something he didn’t know nor understand.

As he glanced around the barracks now, Ash felt the same wave of disappointment. The building was dirty, cold, and full of disillusioned Warriors hoping to make an impact on the chaotic world. I am no different, Ash thought with bitterness. I am blinded by the same stupid hope.

Ash lay back, folding his bulky arms underneath his head. He stared at the blank ceiling and let his mind recall exactly how he had come to be this way. The single week he spent in the company of Firiea Kahlor was no doubt the utmost important time of his life. When she first introduced herself in the dead of night, he asked her why she had pulled him from the side of the road, dirty and barely conscious. She just smiled and told him, “You’re more important than you know,” and proceeded to tend his wounds before the fire. It was the same hope that he clung to now.

Then, three nights later, after stoking the fire, she handed him a cup of warmed wine and sat on the cold ground next to him. She turned to him as if to speak, but Ash didn’t give her the chance. He took her chin and leaned forward, but before he could kiss her mouth, she knocked his hand away and stood swiftly in the same motion. She stared down at him, an inscrutable expression on her face. When she walked away without a word, all Ash could think about was how long it had been since he had kissed a woman.

Besides, Ash thought, its one woman’s kiss I crave, and she is far out of my reach now. And better for it.

Frustrated that he couldn’t sleep, Ash untucked one arm and threw it across his eyes. Thoughts of Firiea were depressing enough to lose sleep over; much less, despair over his own lost love.

Yet he could not deny the hope that existed in his heart, hope that one day the waiting would be over. It had already been a long three years.

Giving up on the battle for sleep, Ash tucked his arm back again and stared out the window on the opposite side of the room, waiting for the pre-dawn glow to filter into morning.

* * * *

Ash never liked thinking about how he came to be a private in the Warrior Army. He disliked thinking about why he had left his home even more. Originally, his plan had been logical and simple: join the Warrior guild to gain more training until the rest of his destiny caught up with him. Since he was not of Warrior lineage, he knew he was far behind on skills, especially because he had never even attempted an apprenticeship. Whatever master actually took a second look at him would see his family tree and laugh him out of the town. Luckily, it didn’t take that much to join the Warrior’s guild in the stronghold of Jehlome, just a desire to protect the southern half of Menael. Then when the guild fashioned itself into the Army when the war broke out, Ash simply stayed, through the internal conflict of interest nearly killed him.

The civil war that was occurring in Menael, Ash was convinced, would destroy it before the battles resolved anything. Warriors were convinced the Mages had tried to sabotage them, while the Mages were sure it was all a ploy to conquer the northern half of Menael. Ash knew better, on both counts. But all attempts made by the greatest leaders and wealthiest lords to call a treaty had failed simply because both sides, already tired of the constant strain between them, had refused to believe neither party was at fault for the things that had gone on. Something was definitely happening in Menael.

Early in the war, many hopefuls had claimed it to be the mysterious followers of the dark goddess, Ember, which had wreaked violent havoc for nearly fifty years. But those that disagreed did so strongly: It was not like The Faction to execute a single, devastating blow. All of the previous attacks claimed by The Faction had been isolated and aimed at both Warrior and Mage travelers along the remote roads. Nothing indicated that it could be them.

The war had started as small skirmishes in central Menael, where the towns were mainly farmers and merchants, neither Mage nor Warrior. When the number ambushed and killed rose to a considerable amount, Davic Saber, leader of the Warrior’s guild, announced anyone affiliated with or benefiting Mages as the enemy, and the guild became the Army. Even the gods are waging this war! Ash remembered him shouting, riling up the listening Warriors. A formal attack on the main bridge that crossed the Crysal River, an attempt to blockade Torren, the Mages’ stronghold, was the first incontestable attack in the war. The Archmages, tipped off by a Jehlome internal liaison, barely thwarted the attack without any fatalities. The liaison, when discovered, was the first causality. He was hanged from the platform that sat in the central courtyard of the fortress.

Ash winced at this memory. Any hint of his ties to the Mage class would surely have brought him a swift drop shortly after the Mage spy. He was surprised that his past was undiscovered at all, actually, but he was not one to question when things went his way. Sometimes he wondered if they did not already know. Unconsciously, he reached up and touched the silver and ruby pedant around his neck.

“Mathis, Kaemore, Sunder, Noreland. You have wall duty in an hour. I suggest you hurry up and eat!” barked Ash’s platoon leader, striding into the room full of sleeping soldiers. He continued snapping orders at awakening soldiers, and Ash thought, So the day begins. He stood, pulling on dark blue trousers and a silver and blue tunic embroidered with the sword and axe crest of the Army. He stuck his feet into heavy leather boots, and reached for his belt when he realized what his platoon leader had said. Wall duty. An execution this morning. Why do I have to be such a good shot? When the first spy had been hanged, another spy had burst from a door and had nearly freed the other from his noose before he was subdued and strung up beside him. After the heavy internal interrogation, a list of the best shots was made. Every execution, one was posted to every wall that surrounded the courtyard with crossbows to insure that no such incident occurred again.

After Ash received breakfast, he sat down at his platoon’s table to eat. “Hey, Mathis, know what’s going on today?” One soldier asked another.

“Yeah,” responded Mathis. “Woman caught trying to sneak into the fort last week. Used magic to get past the front post. Another spy. Don’t you remember the alarm?”

“She alone?”

“As far as they could tell, I guess. Must’ve scared off the others.”

Single person ambush? Ash thought. What Mage would have the strength to attempt that? The use of magic drained a person physically, Ash knew. Harder spells took longer amounts of time to cast, and Mages, as a rule, moved in parties of four or more, with at least one Cleric. An attempt to sneak into a fort made no sense. Clerics were very good with the power of suggestion.

As Ash trudged out onto the west wall of the courtyard, he averted his eyes from the gallows constructed in the middle of the flat, broad space. The courtyard had contained tables, firepits, and a small stage for festivals. Ash had played cards and laughed with fellow Warriors many times in the courtyard, before the War. Supposed deserters, he thought, my friends are my enemies. Most of Ash’s companions had left the Guild when the war began, sickened how a simple collection of Warriors could become a strict Army. Ash had mostly agreed with them, but found he had trouble leaving Jehlome. Something told me to stay.

He leaned against the back wall, glanced down the short balcony that was his post at both doors on either side of him, and took a deep breath. Pressing the back of his neck against the chilly stone, he closed his eyes. Fear bubbled to the surface of his mind, a familiar feeling in conjunction with an execution, making his knees tremble and heart pound wildly. Please, whatever gods may be out there, do not let it be her.Whatever else may be, please let her be safe. His trepidation mingled with the weight of his guilt, and he mentally shoved it aside. He turned up his collar against the early spring gust and leaned forward again, resting his elbows on the chest-high ledge to watch the movements of the courtyard. Another soldier threw a rope over the top of the gallows, beginning to tie the noose, standing off to the side as his companion threw the lever to make sure the platform dropped. Satisfied with their work, they walked to the south door to retrieve their prey. Fixing a bolt into his crossbow, Ash nodded to the posts on the east, north, and south walls, confirming he was ready. He stared down the shaft, fixating on the door to his right, as the two heavily armed soldiers led a blindfolded and bound woman toward the gallows where the noose swung free. His heart clenched for a moment at her long braid before his realized the color of her hair was too light. Thank god it is not her. She walked forward with a resigned limp, shoulders hunched and head down. Her dirty tunic, bruised arms, and wild hair showed the treatment she received in her week’s stay at the fort. “Looks like this one is reconciled to her fate. Damned Mages,” snorted the soldier watching on Ash’s right with contempt.

The soldiers reached the gallows, leading the woman up the stairs. As one soldier reached up to grab the noose, the other pitched his voice across the courtyard. “Any last requests, conspirator?”

“I wish to see my executors so I can identify them to Rune in the afterlife!” She responded, a bit of strength returning to her slumped posture. The soldier beside Ash snorted his contempt again.

“For you, there is no afterlife.” The soldier responded. “But, very well.” He reached up to remove her blindfold as the other placed the noose around her neck.

And as the blindfold came off, something whispered in Ash’s mind: Your wait is over. Firiea gazed straight into his eyes from the platform with a noose around her neck, and, as Ash’s heart seized in his chest, she smiled. You prayed it was not one woman and received another. Rise to meet your destiny, Ashlund.

Firiea moved in a flash, reaching up and grabbing the rope behind her before they could tighten the noose. The soldiers reached for her instantly, and she swung back and kicked one with each foot, knocking them down as she slipped from the noose. Ash felt his collar rip as the soldier next to him grabbed him. Ash’s feet hit the ground hard and were running toward the gallows before he even realized he had vaulted from the wall, crossbow slung across his back. Please, Rune, don’t fail me now. Let me leave this place alive. Arrows flew from the surrounded three walls, and Ash watched as Firiea’s mouth moved in a silent spell. The arrows disintegrated into dust as Ash felt the tingling wave of magic, then Firiea’s hands were free from her binds and she was waving him on. “Come on, Ash, get the move on!”

Ash bounded onto the platform, a vicious glee and adrenaline making his heart pound. Firiea grinned up at him, cunning as ever. “You ready?” Ash nodded, grinning back. “Then go!” She shouted, as three more arrows crumbled when they struck the shield around them.

Jumping off the platform, Ash followed Firiea, shouting, “West wall!” She darted toward the wall, as soldiers poured out of the north and south doors. “Up!” He shouted, cupping his hands as they reached the stone wall. He vaulted her up and she leaned down as he grabbed onto the rim. She dragged him over the top, turning only to whip the approaching soldier over the edge by one arm before the knife he held landed in her back. He landed on a cluster of soldiers attempting to climb up after them, knocking them over.

Ash glanced to his sides, as a few of the onlookers rushed at them. Firiea was already on the ledge, hurdling herself onto the roof. Pain blinded Ash for a moment as another soldier struck him in his right temple. He turned as another punch was thrown, and Ash caught his arm, crouching and hurling him over his head into another attacker. Damn, haven’t done that in a while, Ash thought, as Firiea bellowed, “Ash! Hurry up!”

Ash jumped onto the ledge, throwing himself into the corner by one of the doors, trying to catch the edge to pull himself up. Firiea grabbed his arms once more, but another soldier grabbed his legs, pulling him down. Ash felt a knife slice into his calf. He shouted in pain, writhing, and kicked his attacker squarely in the face. The man tumbled backwards, catching the back of his head across the ledge. Ash scrambled for purchase against the smooth wall, slipping down as more men came out the opposite door. Firiea tugged on his arms hard, finally hauling him onto the flat roof of the fort. “Are you all right?” She asked him, lightly touching the rising bump on the side of his forehead.

“I’m fine. Come on, they’ll be up here any minute.” He motioned her on, and she sprinted forward. He followed at a slightly more sedate rate, the burning in his right calf bothersome.

“If we can reach the woods, we’ll be safe,” Firiea called back to him. “The problem is getting down.”

“There’s another terrace on the wall ahead. Let’s hope no one’s down there.” Ash responded.

Unfortunately, there were two soldiers in the middle of propping up a stepladder to climb onto the roof. Firiea caught them across the chests with her feet as she jumped down, knocking them both out cold before they even knew what hit them. “That wasn’t so bad.” She grinned up at him again as he jumped down. “I thought this might actually be difficult. I’m a little disappointed.” Ash stopped to catch his breath, staring at her in awe. She raised her eyebrows at him. “I’ll explain everything once we’re in the clear.” She checked below her and hopped off the wall. Ash followed, and they took off toward the edge of the forest before them.

Ash felt the prickle of magic again, and as they stepped into the woods, their footsteps fell silent, without a single crackle of dead leaves or snap of twigs. Firiea slowed down to a brisk walk. They strode in silence for a few minutes, and Ash glanced over at her, surprised that little about her had changed. Still the same long, auburn braid, pointed chin, determined expression set to her face, but at the same time, Ash could sense the magical rippling under her skin, intensifying the already vibrant aura around her. She seemed alive with certain gleeful energy. She glanced up at him and grinned again. Her eyes. Her eyes are violet now. How could they change? “I’ve been staying in these woods for weeks,” she told him. “I seem to have grown a special bond with forests.” She stretched up her arms, seeming to embrace the branches around her, and Ash’s magic sense buzzed as the trees appeared to reach back. Then Firiea dropped her arms, and Ash’s senses settled back into place.

“Firiea, how,” Ash stuttered, as the adrenaline began to wear off and the pain in his leg and temple came rushing back.

“Destiny has caught up to us, Ash,” She told him, her face growing somber. “The gods have pulled their last card. If we fail…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “The corruption will be absolute. Warrior, Mage, it doesn’t matter. This war is far beyond simple disputes between classes; even the gods are waging this war.” Ash felt a jolt as Davic’s words came out of her mouth. “Do you still pray to Rune, everyday, Ash? Still feel in your heart that even though you are a Warrior, your gods have not changed?” She watched as he touched his chest where his pendant lay. “This is not about Mages and Warriors. This is a battle between Shadow and Spirit.”

Ash caught his breath. “You don’t mean–“ Firiea nodded. “But, Firiea, what do you mean, if we fail? If we fail at what?” He asked, perplexed. Firiea opened her mouth to respond. To his left, he heard the snap of a twig close by. Firiea froze, turning around carefully, finger to her lips. No more, she mouthed, and Ash nodded. He followed her with a silence that was eerie.

* * * *

Darien Suther was sprinting down the hallway toward the west terrace when he saw Ash hop off the wall to the ground. Traitors. You think you are free, but I am the best at what I do, he thought, grinning wickedly. As they reached the edge of the woods, he leapt down, surprising one of the privates from his platoon. “I’ll find them,” he told him. “Make sure Davic knows I will not return unless he is with me and she is dead.”

“Yes, sir,” the private responded, saluting him. Darien smirked to himself and sprinted toward the edge of the forest, quarter of a mile away. He had seen their stunts in the courtyard, her fancy footwork and devious smile. He had not been impressed, knowing Kaemore’s importance to Davic’s future maneuvers. Kaemore was needed, and desperately. He may turn the tide of the war, Davic had told him in confidence. All of my strategy and blockades and manpower cannot breach the defenses around Torren; their reconnaissance is too superior and their ability to manipulate too effective. They have everything they need in that little bowl of mountains and they know it. But Kaemore, he said with a smile, Kaemore can get us in.

But how? Darien had asked him. How can one man breach an entire valley of Mages?

Never underestimate the importance of bloodline, Davic had said, and had explained no more.

So Darien knew he had to return with Kaemore alive. The woman, now she might prove difficult to kill, with Kaemore in tow. He had to separate them, and get rid of her. But how was he supposed to bring him back alive? He was a Stealth Elite, the best of the best, the only one capable of training them to be the best. But he was not a Mage. He could not hypnotize or charm.

You will figure it out, he told himself, crossing into the forest, his swift footsteps like whispers in a quiet room. Your life depends on it. He knew that failure was unacceptable with Davic. He either returned with Kaemore to Jehlome or not at all, to be considered a deserter and traitor, killed on sight. I will never let that happen, Darien thought grimly, listening for movement with one ear. Davic has given me everything.

Darien paused briefly. He could hear nothing. Only whispers of the wind through the boughs of the ancient trees, the twitter of birds. No rustle of footsteps, no snap of twigs. How can they be so silent? No magic can silence footsteps. Before Darien could continue forward, the woman spoke from just a few feet in front of him. He listened to their conversation, pacing them invisibly. He heard when she asked about his prayers, about the war and the gods. He was eavesdropping intently when he overheard her final statement. Battle between Shadow and Spirit? Darien raised his head, stunned. Where have I heard that before?

As his next step cracked a branch into pieces, Darien bit back a swear. He sensed them pause, and could hear them no more. After waiting a few moments for them to begin to move on, he realized he had lost them. The forest was back to its murmuring rhythm, and they had vanished. Suppressing his frustration, he told himself, Back to basics, Suther, and set about the painstaking art of tracking them.

* * * *
Firiea led Ash further into the forest as the sun hit its peak. They stood at the foot of a steep, rocky hill, and Ash realized they were up against the base of the Kalari Mountains. It was uncanny how quiet it was. So used to the sound of the clatter and the shouting of the fort, Ash felt like a ghost walking the plains of the undead, listening only to his own breathing.

Firiea, on the other hand, was in a world of her own. She moved with a swiftness and a sway that matched the trees in the breeze, a surety that was born of months and months of living in isolation with nothing but sky and moss and mountain. She had possessed a natural grace before, Ash knew, but nothing compared to this. She moved like the mythical Dryads were supposed to. Dressed in her worn leather trousers and scuffed tunic, dirty and dusty, she almost looked like one. Ash could barely keep up with her, stumbling into logs and tripping over hidden hollows. While he was watching his feet, cursing at his limping leg, he glanced up to see how far ahead Firiea had gotten, and she was gone. Ash halted in his tracks, staring wildly, trying to find her. He heard her laugh and suddenly she materialized a few feet in front of him.

“Just an illusion, Ash. Sorry to startle you. Like I said before, I seem to have stronger magic and a lighter heart in forests. Maybe it just helps me focus. I just hope that…” She stuttered, “That when this is over, I can live in these forests in peace.” She raised her face to the sun, and Ash caught his breath again. Firiea seemed supernatural, almost.

“But, what is this?” Ash asked, prompting her to look him in the eyes again. She smiled at him, motioning him on, and he hesitated.

“I will explain. Come on.” When he eyed the hillside warily, she said, “It’s alright, Ash. It just cloaks the opening to a cave. Make sure to duck a bit.” She disappeared again.

Ash continued to doubt the hillside. It was somewhat steep, and certainly rocky. It wasn’t unlikely there was an opening to deeper inside, but for the life of him, Ash couldn’t see it. It looked like another sharp fall of cliff. He took a deep breath and lowered his head, stepping inside.

His eyes took a moment to readjust to the dimness inside. The opening was slightly narrow, but the tunnel widened up considerably, and within a few steps, Ash could stand to his full height. It was dry, and Ash could smell the wood smoke from recent fires. He turned a slight corner, and Firiea’s makeshift home was before him. She had a thick bed of moss covered with deerskin, and a deerskin blanket with a patchwork of rabbit fur sewn to the inside. A fire pit was off to one side, still another deerskin rigged to the ceiling and stretched over the fire to dry. A heavy canvas bag was at the foot of the bed, and the flap was back. Ash could see clothing, a belt knife, a small sewing kit and a water canteen inside. A familiar broadsword was propped against the wall.

Firiea looked up at Ash from where she crouched, starting a fire. “It seems you’ve made quite the home for yourself, Firiea. Just how long have you been living here?” Ash felt more bewildered every minute.

“About six months,” She replied, her fire started. She lifted a heavy cauldron onto a sturdy branch across the fire. When she saw the panicky look on his face, she sighed. “I know I haven’t been forthcoming with knowledge. Let me get some water for dinner, and I promise I will explain.” Ash nodded, sitting on the bed and putting his head in his hands.

When Firiea was satisfied with her stew, she sat on the hard ground before him, crossing her legs in front of her. “After we left Drake Isle three years ago, I returned to the only home I could think of. My place of guidance, if you will.” She gazed past him, eyes focusing on some far–off place. “You know the gods are real, Ash. I can see it, feel it in your aura. But I have spoken to them. Rune and Sabrene have touched my face, Realm has blessed me. And they bestowed magic on me, Ash.” She swallowed, and rose to her feet again. She reached past Ash’s shoulder for her broadsword. As he watched in awe, she unsheathed it, and a gleam of light flowed down the blade and flashed back up the hilt. “Me and my weapons.” She held the sword up, and it shone in the firelight.

“But, how? Magic takes years to master! And inanimate objects can’t be enchanted!” Ash exclaimed.

“Haven’t you heard of magic shock? When an individual is exposed to extremes of magic, totally unprepared for what they are experiencing? If they survive, they are always altered – hair color, eye color, skin color in those who handle it well, lost of speech and movement in those who don’t?” She pointed to her eyes. “These, Ash, these eyes are my scars. They will brand me forever.” She sighed. “Things have changed. Menael will never be the same; it is tearing itself apart. The gods know that. I am the only person, according to them, to ever have need of this gift.” Her smile radiated irony. “We have to save the world, Ash.”

He stared up at her, baffled. “And how are we supposed to do that?”

Firiea laughed. “I don’t know.”

* * * *
Darien felt like screaming. Where did they go? He had tracked them close to the base of the Karlari Mountains, and then their trail had vanished. Lead right into a cliff side, and vanished. It was approaching dark, and he could smell wood smoke coming from a campfire, but for the love of Terris, he could not figure out where it was coming from.

Defeated, Darien found a small clearing and rolled out a blanket he had managed to grab before leaving the fort. He hadn’t expected for it to take this long. He wanted to wait until they were asleep, kill the woman, and drag Kaemore back to the fort by the ends of his hair, if that was what it took. He didn’t expect to be stuck, making a cold camp in the woods, not knowing where his prey lay. He lay down, tucking one arm behind his head, shifting so the many daggers hanging from his belt wouldn’t dig into his sides. He never took them off, not to sleep, not to bathe. He would never be caught unprepared again.

Once settled, Darien gazed up at the small patch of stars visible. Sitting in plain site in the center of his vision was his favorite constellation. The Secret, his mother had always told him. It holds the key to destiny, Darien. That is why only the gods know.

What secrets do you have tonight? He shook his head to clear it. Destiny is card tricks and fool’s games, he told himself, not something you can find in the stars. But Darien found himself staring at them for a long time before finally falling asleep.

* * * *

“So what do I have to do with it, Firiea? Did the gods happen to tell you how I play into all of this?” Ash asked after the fire had died down to a pleasant glow.

Firiea, who was gazing into the glowing embers, stirred from her hypnosis. “I’m not sure, Ash, not any more sure than I am about the rest of it. They said that your bloodline was paramount, but not to me. That the force of deception was great, but not as great as your ability to resist it.” She shrugged. “You have to understand, while the gods are great, they don’t know what the future holds. That’s why this is so important.”

“How do the gods not know…?”

Firiea leaned forward. “After the War that Remade the World, so many hundreds of years ago, Ember managed to hold her ground in one tiny little forest here in Menael.”

“The Glade of Shadow.” Ash nodded.

“That small smear on the face of this beautiful land is just enough to cause the gods’ vision to blur. They cannot read Ember’s plans. But they can feel her power growing, in the hearts of the people. They know she will be making a move soon, most likely to release the force they sealed so many years ago.”

Ash raised an eyebrow, more confused than ever. “But didn’t we already…?”

Firiea shook her head. “It was a ploy, Ash. To lure us into a false sense of security.”

Ash sat back. “And it worked. A war started right under our noses.”

“A war that will tear Menael apart, rendering it helpless for what may come.” Firiea let her eyes settle over Ash’s. “I don’t believe the sudden swing of sympathy toward the Warriors and the changes of power in Torren are coincidental. The Archmages who held authority before the current pair would never have let it come to this.”

Ash clenched his jaw, remembering the “accidental” death of the leaders and the pair that succeeded them. He was very aware of Firiea’s eyes on his face. “No, they wouldn’t have.”

“What we need now is information. Where should we go to find it first?”

“Torren,” Ash told her immediately. “There is someone there who will help us.”

Firiea’s steady gaze still did not leave his face. “Indeed.”

* * * *

Darien wasted little time once the first rays of dawn broke over the scattered peaks of mountains. He quickly tracked the trail back to the tumbling cliff side, only to find a crevice that opened up into a secluded, dry cave. Seeing the blackened pit from multiple fires and breathing in the fading scent of roasting meat, Darien let out a curse that could make the hardest Warrior blush. They were already gone.

How had he missed their marks? They were careless when they left, sooty footprints everywhere, scuffmarks where the makeshift bed had been, bones from their meals in one curved corner. He had stood next to the entrance to their hideaway and breathed in the smoke from their fire, and they had been able to cloak their presence well enough he could not find them. Darien wondered how long she had stayed here, waiting patiently for the moment, preparing herself to spring a traitor from the very heart of the Warrior fortress. What a treacherous excuse for a human being. An underhanded foe, but a clever one indeed. Darien felt a surge in his blood, the hot buzz that sent his mind into pure focus. He always enjoyed a challenge.

Inspecting the marks from the fire and the footprints, Darien knew they had not been gone long. Northward, most likely, back to the wretched pit the Mages called home. Within two, maybe three days, they would be clear of the mountains and crossing the fertile silt beds, leaving them in plain sight of the constant watch the Mages held on their hills. Such an open area would severely hinder his chances at capturing Kaemore, and would place him closer to Torren’s gallows than he dared.

He had to catch them before they left the dense forest that surrounded the base of the Kalari Mountains.

As he ducked out of the slim opening of the cave, he cast his sharp eyes, looking for confirmation. Due north, a freshly cracked twig, broken by feet too broad to belong to any forest creature. Darien set off at an alarmingly brisk pace.

He only had three days.