“I’ll tell my father. We have weapons that can kill a skura. You won’t be without help in that.”

  Amy nodded and wiped a cheek.

  Rory and Kairos, the wizard holding an enormous squash, it’s white and pale green stripes contrasted against his dark robe. Erika detected a bit of sweat dripping down his forehead. He sat his bundle down by the outdoor oven and brushed the dust off his hands.

  “Goodness, Rory, you made the wizard carry that all the way from the field?”

  “I insisted,” Kairos said.

  “T’was wager, Mum. And he lost. Now I must quench his thirst!” Rory said with a grin.

  “Water’s inside.”

  “That it is, but we wagered to have refreshments at the Sheep’s Gate Inn,” Rory said. “An’ Stormy’s waitin’.”

  “What’s at the Inn?” Erika asked as they trotted down the alley and turned a corner.

  “Mead,” the woman answered with a chuckle and stood. “The boys might glean some magic from your wizard. Fairmistle could use a spell or two.” She slipped into the house and returned with two knives and a bucket of turnips, sat next to Erika, and leaned closer to her ear. “That wizard of the king’s—he isn’t by any chance, a Vouchsaver, is he?”

  “No, that takes years of experience and many spells. Kairos is still learning.”

  The woman fanned her face and sighed. “It’s good. Our people fear the Vouchsavers.”

  Erika used her dagger to help Amy peel turnips.

  “Those wild flyin’ beasts? A Vouchsaver made them, and we’ve been expectin’ they’d be here. We’ve seen the king’s men ride across the plains from Tellwater. Heard the rumors about Lord Garion and the trouble he’s had. Just a matter of time before they made their way into the plains, and along the river.”

  “We’ve been doing our best to eliminate them.”

  “Can’t wipe them off the face of the earth without first getting’ hold of that rascal Vouchsaver Skotádi. He creates them faster than your men can kill the beasts.”

  Erika looked up at the woman as she cut the tops off a turnip and dipped it in the basin of water, dropped it in the kettle, and wiped her hands.

  “He keeps creating them?”

  “Sure, as the sun drops below the hills at night. You westerners think Skotádi’s a myth, but he’s no myth. No. Used to be a man who lived around here ages past. A wizard man who got too big for his suspenders. Did so much evil with his magic it gobbled him right up.”

  “Is he immortal now?” Erika asked.

  “Some say he is. No one knows for sure. No one’s got close enough to kill him.”

  “I wonder how that could be done.”

  Amy shrugged and grabbed another root. “Best leave it for the menfolk to figure that one.”

  “Any advice you could give me, I would gladly take to my father. I fought in Tellwater.”

  “You’ve fought the skura, it’s true, but a pretty maiden like yourself has no affair wrestlin with the Vouchsaver!”

  “Why not? I fight for my country and I’m good at it. I’ve been training ever since I was young,” Erika said as politely as she could, hoping she didn’t sound arrogant. But this perception that only men should be in the worst of battles was stifling, “Women can fight any enemy a man can. We’re clever, and strong, and faithful. I would wish more of us joined ranks.”

  “It’s no doubt you can fight agin the Vouchsaver’s minions with the right weapons. But how do you stand against his magic?”

  “We’ll find a way, and when we do, women will be right there alongside the men.”

  She bit her lip, wondering if she should tell Amy the whole of her heartache. That was the reason she came to find counsel with Rory’s mother.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound presumptuous. I’ve stood up in battle, and I fought hard. But I also made a terrible mistake.”

  “We all make mistakes,” Amy went on.

  “Not like this! We don’t all make mistakes that costs a man’s life, a man who was an ally.” It came out as a whisper, but Amy heard, nodded, and squinted at her.

  “War costs men’s lives, child. That’s what battling’s about. You think I don’t know my son Rory risks his life marching for your father’s army? It makes seeing him so much more meaningful, that he’s still alive and healthy. Men die in war. If the enemy don’t get him, then the crossfire will. He’s aware. It’s a pity, but it happens, and if every soldier wept over a death they caused, maybe there wouldn’t be any war, or maybe their own army’d get slaughtered because that old Vouchsaver doesn’t weep, I can assure you. He’d take advantage of your tears! He would, and all your people would die. Sure as a lamb’s tooth we can’t afford to weep until the fightin’s done.”

  Erika nodded, aware that all she said was true.

  Amy let out a breath and stopped peeling long enough to look into Erika’s eyes. “My dear child, if it’s too hard on the heart for ya, maybe you ought to stay home and let the men take care of the killin’. Women have other purposes as well. Who will populate the land when men have died trying to save us? Your young-uns, of course! What does your mother say to that?” Amy asked.

  “What you say makes sense, but....” News concerning the life of King Tobias might not have reached Fairmistle. This country village had no reason to follow the personal lives of the royal family, and her mother’s fate happened almost twenty years ago.

  “Have you not heard?” Erika asked gently. “My father’s wife died in childbirth. I was that child.”

  Amy set her knife down, wiped her hands again. Her pale blue eyes rested on Erika with sympathy as she took her hand. “My sweet princess. I’m so sorry. My questions have been offensive. Forgive me.”

  “No, not offensive. You’ve been kind and hospitable. You are a loving mother who has offered her son to the king to fight in his army. Not every mother would consent to such a sacrifice. I appreciate it. A mother’s love is something...,” she sighed and looked away. “It’s something I’ve never known. In all honesty, sometimes I imagine sitting at the table with my mother, just as we’re doing today.”

  Amy’s hands were icy from the water they’d been in, strong and rough because of the work she did. She squeezed and as she did, tears leaked from her eyes. “Your mum would be proud of you, Princess Erika. That’d be for certain. You fight those skura, and if your brother trains you well enough, you take on that nasty old Vouchsaver. Show the men folk what a woman is made of! Don’t let one mistake hold you back. Redeem yourself!”

  Her mother would be proud of her? Not ashamed like the rest of the family? Erika studied the woman’s eyes and smiled through a moist haze as a tear leaked from her own. The mother Rory let her “borrow” kept a tight hold on her hand and she felt the woman tremble.

  “Childbirth isn’t easy for a woman,” she whispered. “Especially not a queen, what with those tight corsets you all wear and a noble lifestyle of fancy food and little exercise. If you be blamin’ yourself for your mum’s death, don’t do that. Your mum wanted you here. She needed you here. She gave her life because she loved you. You take that love she gave, and you make her proud—proud that she raised a warrior like herself. She fought the good fight, and she didn’t lose. She had you. Someday you’ll fall in love and have a child of your own, and you’ll understand what it means to sacrifice for your baby. It’s a love only us mums understand, and you will too.”

  What could she say? Her voice too choked to respond, Erika took a deep breath and nodded.

  “Come, we’ve a meal to prepare!”

  They fixed food all afternoon and Erika concentrated on the task at hand, contemplating all the words that Amy told her, and the love that she felt come from the woman. Rory was indeed lucky to have such a wise and caring mother, and she was lucky to have Rory offer to share her. Amy taught her to make squash pie and butcher and pluck a chicken, and when Kairos, Rory and Stormy returned, Amy bragged on Erika so much that Kairos raised a brow or two during the conversation.

  Erika, on the other hand, had never felt so humble and content.

  They rode home that evening under the bright prairie stars, their bellies full, and the hole in Erika’s heart had been filled, in part, with the kind encouragement of Amy.

  Barin’s Quest

  This story can be read after Rise of the Tobian Princess

  BARIN OFTEN MET HIS father in the round room, a cozy den with rich oak walls, the family’s sword collection polished and shimmering in their racks, and shelves bearing the weight of tomes filled with ancient literature and poetry. The room had a distinct smell of books, leather, and King Tobias’ musk oil, a fragrance his father burned to calm himself during stressful times. Today the incense clouded the room. Barin coughed as the king motioned for him and Commander Neal to sit.

  The king leaned back in his chair, his wiry beard thick over his dark doublet, his blue eyes solemn as he studied his son.

  “I’ve a request,” the king stated. “We lost too many horses during our latest scuffle with skura. We need to replace them. Fifty should be sufficient. Since Lord Sylvester’s Koladan mares foaled four years ago, he should have plenty to sell this spring.” He pushed a bag of coin to his son. “Normally I would pay him when he comes to visit, but he’s a devil to negotiate with especially for that breed. I want them, Barin. I need them. Don’t compromise.”

  “Yes, Vasil.” Barin agreed, taking the bag, and assessing its weight in his hands, his eyes wide. “I would think it would please Lord Sylvester to sell his horses for such a purse.”

  “Don’t be too sure. The man is a stickler. We’ve crossed each other a few times.”

  “Then I’ll do what I can,” Barin assured him.

  “Don’t leave until you have what we want. It might take a day or two but be hard on him. He’s come into too much power with this horse-trading of his. You’d think he were king the way he manipulates me!”

  “I’ll put him in his place,” Barin grinned.

  “Yes, I think you have the talent. I’m getting too old, too soft. Most of the noblemen use me rather than respect me.”

  “That needs to stop, Father.”

  “Yes, well, a lot of things need to stop. Maybe it’s just time I turn this kingdom over to you while I still have sense about me. Take your grandfather’s lead, bless the old man. How is he?” Tobias asked.

  “He’s doing well, Father. Enjoying his retreat by the sea. I should bring him to see you sometime, but he refuses to get in a carriage.”

  “Oh, perhaps I should take time away and visit him. Problem is, I may not want to return.” A deep raspy cough took over the king’s posture and Barin sat up in concern, exchanging a look with Neal.

  “Shall I send for a physicker?”

  Tobias pulled a kerchief from his doublet and spat in it. His eyes watered from the fit and he shook his head.

  “No, son. What I need is a new body, but I’ll have to be satisfied with the one I have. Don’t worry about me. Take care of this. Get us some splendid horses.”

  King Tobias rose, as did Neal and Barin.

  “Is that everything?”

  “That’s more than enough. I don’t envy you having to deal with Lord Sylvester. Take men with you to herd the horses back here. I’ll have a temporary corral built in the valley and we’ll go from there.”

  Neal and Barin both bowed

  KOLADA WAS CLOSE TO the same size city as Prasa Potama, in the northeastern border of the Potamian kingdom, with the Ream mountain region separating it from the Casdamian empire. The city had been attacked by Bahldi decades ago, but because of the rugged landscape that bordered the two countries, the foreign emperor turned his attention to easier victories. Lord Sylvester’s father constructed barns, erected fences for pastures, and raised a breed of horses known as the Koladan, a family enterprise Lord Sylvester took pride in. Barin had been to the city once before as a youngster. He remembered little about the trip besides the horses.

  “We’re bringing back a herd of Koladans?” Dunbar asked with an eager grin. Though still a youth, he was an excellent horseman, one of the four men Barin had chosen to ride with him to Kolada.

  “Are you sure these pocket-sized ponies can take them on?” Talos asked with a laugh. Koladans were majestic animals, often growing to heights uncommon for a horse at seventeen, even nineteen hands at the withers. King Tobias had four of them and he used them for his royal carriage, but soldiers coveted them for war, esteeming the animal to be almost god-like. It was the Koladan breed that had been the inspiration for the destrier on the Tobian banner.

  Barin smiled at his four companions as they rode through the forest. Talos, a stocky middle-aged man, quiet and loyal; Ray, a friend of Neal’s whose agility, even though he was in his forties, had more energy than Barin could keep up with, Dunbar, and of course his best friend and commander, Neal.

  “Koladans might be big but I’ve found them passive. They’ll be easy to drive home. Old Beau here will get them to where they need to go.” Barin patted his chestnut’s neck, and the horse lifted his head and twitched his ears. He’d owned Beau since he was a teenager and the stallion had been his mount through many battles. Even though his horse wasn’t as grand in stature as a Koladan, he was sure-footed, steadfast, and faithful. Sometimes Barin sensed that Beau could even read his mind.

  They left before dawn, their saddlebags filled with a week’s provisions, though Barin planned on rooming at an inn in Kolada.

  “We’re not staying with Lord Sylvester?” Neal teased when he made mention. They had left the forest edge, now descending the steep incline of the hills behind the castle. Barin shook his head.

  “Not if I can help it. I plan on staying someplace friendly.”

  “I grew up in Kolada, Vasil. I know a place—Landlifter’s Inn. They stay open late and have rooms.” Dunbar offered, wrapping his cloak over his shoulders as he rode.

  “The Landlifter’s Inn? Isn’t that in the north part of town?” Talos asked.

  “Aye, it is, but it’s a fancy inn. Too pricey for the beggars, cutpurses, and vagabonds that loiter in the alleys.”

  “What do you say to that?” Neal asked Barin.

  “I say we’ll consider all possibilities. We won’t be in Kolada until this evening, and I don’t intend to show up at Lord Sylvester’s door like a beggar, unwashed and needy. We’ll find an inn, have refreshments and a place to clean up, and do our negotiating in the morning.”

  BARIN ENJOYED THE CONVERSATION as they rode through the woods. But when they descended into the plains, the trip and their saddles wore on them. Aside from taking a brief reprieve for a bite to eat, they pressed on and rode through the vast prairie in the afternoon heat. The sun set, and Barin pulled his cloak from the ties on his saddle. Chill seemed to grab him from the inside out. If he hadn’t had his friends by his side, he’d have given in to superstition, for the shadow cast by the moon against the mountain hovered over them, and strange calls came from the craggy heights.

  “Skura, you think, Vasil?” Dunbar asked, moving his horse closer to the prince’s stallion.

  “I might be wrong in my thinking, but those screeches sound different from skura, like maybe there’s a new breed of monsters Skotádi’s been cooking up.” Talos mumbled, adjusting his scarf, and wrapping his cloak tighter around him.

  “They might be skura,” Barin said. “Skura sound different from far away. We’re getting close to Kolada. Smell the wood smoke?”

  “You’re right. I see lights,”

  A light in the fortress watchtower glowed dimly against the stars, and as they came nearer the dark walls of the city became visible. His father’s words lingered in Barin’s mind as he approached, for the magnitude of the fortress impressed him.

  “He’s come into too much power with this horse-trading of his.” A man to be cautious of, more than his father realizes, Barin concluded, for these walls fortified not only Lord Sylvester’s home, but his entire community. The structure stood as strong and mighty as Prasa Potama’s castle.

  “Father should get out more and see what his kingdom is up to,” Barin whispered to Neal.

  “I didn’t realize Kolada was so well protected,” Neal replied. “They have built these walls only recently, within the last few years. Is it skura he’s afraid of, or Moshere?”

  “Or King Tobias?” Barin whispered, his heart skipping a beat. “No city in Prasa Potama should be so well fortified that it poses a threat to its monarch.”

  Neal grunted in reply.

  Kolada nested against the foothills of the Ream mountain range, with a meadow encircling it where nameless creeks meandered through the grass. Barin let Beau drink the fresh mountain runoff as he studied the fortress.

  “Wonder where the door is.” Talos stopped alongside the prince.

  “They must have a gate somewhere.” Dunbar said, stretching in his saddle. He removed his hat and dusted it with his fist. “Sure, looks different from what it did five years ago.”

  “It seems to me they’d open their city to the west,” Neal said. “So as not to send an invitation to Casdamia.”

  “Nor to us.” Barin added, not liking the looks of it.

  “You take this as a threat, Vasil?”

  “I don’t see it as a welcoming, do you, Neal?” Barin lifted Beau’s head with the reins and moved his horse out of the creek, veering westward. The others followed. Caution dictated his arrival, and he wondered why his father hadn’t been told of this new barricade.

  “Seems to me Lord Sylvester isn’t paying the king enough taxes,” Barin said under his breath.

  Just as Neal had suggested, a drawbridge stretched out over a fast-flowing river on the western front of the fortress, and though it had been lowered, the portcullis remained shut. A light shimmered dimly in one of the flanking towers, and Barin coaxed Beau over the planks to the end of the bridge.

 

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