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  Queen Roen’s fortress was a long day’s ride away. The guards set a brisk pace, skirting the edges of the town, close enough to hear roosters crowing but far enough not to be seen. The best way for a traveler to get himself robbed or murdered was to make the fact of his travel public.

  There were tunnels under the mountains that would have taken them faster to Roen, but these also they planned to avoid. At least in the north, the steep paths above ground were safer than the unknown that lurked in the dark.

  Of course Fire’s hair was tightly covered, and her riding clothes plain. Still, she hoped they would encounter no one. Predator monsters tended to overlook the charms of a face and a body if they saw no interesting hair, but this was not the way of men. If she was seen, she’d be scrutinized. Once scrutinized, she’d be recognized, and the eyes of strangers were never comfortable.

  THE ABOVEGROUND ROUTE to the fortress of Queen Roen was a high and treeless one, for mountains called the Little Grays divided the land of Fire and her neighbors from the land of the lady queen. “Little” because they were passable by foot and because they were more easily inhabitable than the Great Grays that formed the Dells’ western and southern border with the unknown land.

  Hamlets balanced on top of cliffs in the Little Grays or crouched in the valleys near tunnel openings—rough-hewn, cold, colorless, and stark. Fire had watched these distant hamlets and wondered about them every time she’d traveled to Roen. Today she saw that one of them was missing.

  “There used to be a village on that cliff,” she said, pointing. And then she made sense of it. She saw the broken rock foundations of the old buildings sticking out of the snow, and at the foot of the cliff on which the village had stood, a pile of rocks, wood, and rubble. And crawling all over the pile, monster wolves, and circling above it, monster raptors.

  A clever new trick for the looters, to throw an entire village off a mountain, stone by stone. Archer swung down from his horse, his jaw hard. “Fire. Are there any living human minds in that pile?”

  Many living minds, but none of them human. A good many rats, monster and ordinary. Fire shook her head.

  Archer did the shooting, because they hadn’t any arrows to waste. First he shot the raptors. Then he wound a rag around an arrow, and set the rag on fire, and shot it into the pile of monsters and decay. He shot flaming arrow after flaming arrow into the pile until it was fully alight.

  Flame was the way, in the Dells, to send the bodies of the dead where their souls had gone, into nothingness. To respect that all things ended, except the world.

  The party moved on quickly, because on the wind the stench was terrible.

  THEY WERE MORE than halfway to their destination when they saw a sight to bolster their spirits: the King’s Army, bursting from a hole in the base of a cliff far below them, and thundering across a plain of flat rock. They stopped on their high path to watch. Archer pointed to the front of the charge.

  “King Nash is with them,” he said. “See him? The tall man, on the roan, near the standard-bearer. And that’s his brother beside him, the commander, Prince Brigan, with the longbow in his hand, on the black mare. In brown, see him? Dells, isn’t it a magnificent sight?”

  Fire had never seen Nax’s sons before, and she had certainly never beheld such a large division of the King’s Army. There were thousands of them—five thousand in this branch, Archer said when she asked—some with mail flashing, others in the army’s dark gray uniform, horses strong and fast, flowing across the land like a river. The one with the longbow in his hand, the prince and commander, moved to the right side and fell back; spoke to a man or two in the middle of the column; surged forward again to the front. They were so far away that they were small as mice, but she could hear the thud of the hooves of some five thousand horses, and feel the enormous presence of some ten thousand consciousnesses. And she could see the colors of the flag hoisted by the standard-bearer who stayed close to the prince’s side wherever he went: a wooded valley, gray and green, with a bloodred sun in an orange sky.

  Prince Brigan turned in his saddle suddenly then, his eyes on some point in the clouds above him, and in that same moment Fire sensed the raptors. Brigan wheeled his black mare around and raised his hand in a signal that caused a number of the party to break off and pull arrows from their backs. Three raptors, two shades of fuchsia and violet and one apple-green, circled high over the river of soldiers, attracted by the vibrations, or by the smell of the horses.

  Archer and his guards also readied arrows. Fire gripped her reins tightly with one hand, calmed Small, and tried to decide whether to put her arm through the agony of readying her own bow.

  It wasn’t necessary. The prince’s men were efficient, and used only four arrows to bring down the fuchsia birds. The green was smarter; it circled irregularly, changing height and speed, dropping lower and lower and always closer to the column of riders. The arrow that finally caught it was Archer’s, a fast shot soaring downward and over the heads of the galloping army.

  The bird monster fell and crashed onto the plain. The prince turned his horse and eyed the mountain paths, looking for the source of the arrow, his own arrow still notched in case he didn’t like the archer he found. When he spotted Archer and the guards, he lowered his bow and raised an arm in greeting. Then he pointed to the carcass of the green bird on the plain and pointed back to Archer. Fire understood the gesture: Archer’s kill was Archer’s meat.

  Archer gestured back: You take it. Brigan raised both arms in thanks, and his soldiers slung the body of the monster onto the back of a riderless horse. She saw a number of riderless horses, now that she was looking for them, carrying bags and supplies and the bodies of other game, some of it monstrous. She knew that outside King’s City the King’s Army housed itself and fed itself. She supposed it must take a bounty to feed so many hungry men.

  She corrected herself. So many hungry men and women. Any person who could ride, fight, and hunt was welcome to join today’s protectorate of the kingdom, and King Nash didn’t require that person to be a man. Or, more particularly, Prince Brigan didn’t. It was called the King’s Army, but really it was Brigan’s. People said that at twenty-seven Nash was kingly, but that when it came to bashing heads the younger brother was the one with the touch.

  Far in the distance, the river of riders began to disappear into a crack at the base of another cliff. “The tunnels would have made for safe passage today, after all,” Archer said, “in the wake of that lot. I wish I’d known they were so near. Last I heard, the king was in his palace in King’s City and the prince was in the far north, looking for Pikkian trouble.”

  On the plain below, the prince turned his mare around to join the tail end of his fighting force; but first his eyes rested on Fire’s form. He could not have appreciated her features from that distance, and with the light of the sun glaring into his face. He could not have ascertained much more than that she was Archer’s friend, dressed like a boy for riding but female, with covered hair. Still, Fire’s face burned. He knew who she was, she was sure of it. His backward glare as he swung away was evidence, and so was his ferocity as he spurred his horse forward. So was his mind, closed to her, and cold.

  This was why she had avoided meeting Nash and Brigan before this. It was only natural that the sons of King Nax should despise her. She burned hot with the shame of her father’s legacy.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  FIRE SUPPOSED IT was too much to hope that the king and the warrior would pass so close to their mother’s holding without stopping. The final portion of their journey took them across rocky hills crowded with the king’s resting soldiers.

  The soldiers had not made camp, but they were napping, cooking meat before fires, playing cards. The sun was low. She couldn’t remember in her tired mind whether armies ever traveled through darkness. She hoped this army was not staying the night on these hills.

  Archer and his guards formed a wall around her as they passed the soldiers, Archer so close on he
r injured side that her left leg brushed against his right. Fire kept her face down, but still she felt the eyes of soldiers on her body. She was so exhausted, so impossibly sore, but she held her consciousness alert, flicking through the minds around her, looking for trouble. Looking also for the king and his brother, and wishing desperately not to find them.

  There were women among the soldiers, but not many. She heard the occasional low whistle, the occasional grunt. Epithets, too, and more than one fight broke out between men as she passed, but no one threatened her.

  And then as they neared the ramp to Roen’s drawbridge she stirred and looked up, and was thankful, suddenly, for the presence of the soldiers. She knew that south of the Little Grays raptor monsters moved sometimes in swarms, found areas of dense population and circled there, waiting, but she had never seen anything like it before. There must have been two hundred raptors, flashing bright colors against an orange and pink sky, high up where only the luckiest of arrows could reach them. Their screeches made her cold. Her hand flew to the edges of her headscarf to check for stray hairs, for she knew that if the raptors discovered what she was, they’d cease even to notice the human army. All two hundred would turn on her.

  “You’re all right, love,” Archer muttered beside her. “Quickly now. We’re almost inside.”

  INSIDE THE ROOFED courtyard of Queen Roen’s fortress, Archer helped her as she fell more than stepped from Small’s back. She balanced herself between her horse and her friend, and caught her breath. “You’re safe now,” Archer said, his arm around her, bracing her, “and there’ll be time to rest before dinner.”

  Fire nodded vaguely. “He needs a gentle hand,” she managed to say to the man who took Small’s reins.

  She barely noticed the girl who showed her to her room. Archer was there; he stationed his men at her doorway, and before he took his leave he warned the girl to take care with her arm.

  Then Archer was gone. The girl sat Fire on the bed. She helped her out of her clothes and untied her headscarf, and Fire collapsed onto the pillows. And if the girl stared wide-eyed at Fire, touching her bright hair wonderingly, Fire didn’t care. Already she was asleep.

  WHEN SHE WOKE her room flickered with candles. A small woman in a brown dress was lighting them. Fire recognized Roen’s mind, quick and warm. Then the woman turned to face her, and Fire recognized Roen’s dark eyes, and her beautifully cut mouth, and the white streak that grew at the front and center of her long black hair.

  Roen set her candle down and sat on the edge of Fire’s bed. She smiled at Fire’s groggy expression. “Well met, Lady Fire.”

  “Well met, Lady Queen.”

  “I spoke with Archer,” Roen said. “How is your arm? Are you hungry? Let’s have dinner now, before my sons arrive.”

  Her sons. “Haven’t they already arrived?”

  “They’re still outside with the Fourth Branch. Brigan’s passing command of the Fourth to one of his captains and sending them east tonight, and I understand it involves endless preparations. The Third comes here in a day or two. Brigan will ride with them to King’s City and leave Nash in his palace, and then he’ll take them south.”

  King’s City. It was on the green land where the Winged River met the Winter Sea. Above the waters rose the king’s palace, made of brilliant black stone. People said the city was beautiful, a place of art, and medicine, and science, but Fire hadn’t seen it since her infancy. She had no memory of it.

  She shook herself. She was daydreaming. “Ride with them,” she said, her mind still fuzzy with sleep. “Them?”

  “Brigan spends equal time with each division of the army,” Roen said. She patted Fire’s lap. “Come, dear. Have dinner with me. I want to hear about life on the other side of the Little Grays and our chance is now.” She stood and whisked her candle off the table. “I’ll send someone in to help you.”

  Roen swept through the door, slapping it shut behind her. Fire swung her legs out from under the covers and groaned. She fantasized about a day when she would open her eyes from sleep to find that she could move her arm without this never-ending pain.

  FIRE AND ARCHER ate dinner with Roen at a small table in her sitting room. Roen’s fortress had been her home years ago, before she’d ever married the king of the kingdom, and was her home again now that Nax was dead. It was a modest castle with high walls surrounding it, enormous stables, lookout towers, and courtyards connecting the business quarters with the living quarters and the sleeping quarters. The castle was large enough that in the case of a siege, people from the surrounding towns for quite some distance could fit inside its walls. Roen ran the place with a steady hand, and from it dispatched assistance to those northern lords and ladies who had demonstrated a desire for peace. Guards, food, weapons, spies; whatever was needed, Roen supplied it.

  “While you were resting I climbed the outer wall,” Archer told Fire, “and waited for raptor monsters to drop low enough to shoot. I only killed two. Do you feel them? I can feel their hunger for us from this very room.”

  “Vicious brutes,” Roen said. “They’ll stay up high until the army moves out. Then they’ll drop down again and wait for people to emerge from the gatehouse. They’re smarter in swarms, the raptors, and more beautiful, of course, and their mental draw is stronger. They’re not having a beneficial effect on the moods of my people, I’ll tell you that. I’ve two or three servants who need to be watched or they’ll walk right out and offer themselves to be eaten. It’s been two days now. I was so relieved when the Fourth showed up today; it’s the first time in two days I’ve been able to send anyone outside the walls. We mustn’t let the beasts spot you, my dear. Have some soup.”

  Fire was grateful for the soup the servant girl spooned into her bowl, because it was food she didn’t have to cut. She rested her left hand in her lap and calculated in her mind. A swarm of raptor monsters was impatient. This one would hang around for a week at most, and then it would move on; but while it lingered, she and Archer would be stuck in place. Unless they rode out in a day or two, when the next wave of soldiers arrived to pick up their commander and their king.

  She momentarily lost her appetite.

  “On top of the hassle of being stuck inside,” Roen said, “I hate closing the roofs. Our skies are dark enough without them. With them it’s plain depressing.”

  Most of the year Roen’s courtyards and her passage to the stables were open to the sky; but torrential rains fell most autumns, and the raptor swarms arrived unpredictably. And so the fortress had retractable canvas roofs on hinged wooden frames that folded down across the open spaces and clicked, one frame at a time, into place, providing protection, but cutting off light from all but the outside windows.

  “My father always speaks of the glass roofs of the king’s palace as an extravagance,” Archer said, “but I’ve spent enough time under roofs like yours to appreciate them.”

  Roen smiled into her soup. “Once about every three years, Nax did have a good idea.” She changed the subject abruptly. “This visit will be a bit of a balancing act. Perhaps tomorrow we can sit down with my people to discuss the events on your lands. After the Third comes and goes, we’ll have more time.”

  She was avoiding specific mention of the thing that was on all their minds. Archer spoke plainly. “Will the king or the prince be a danger to Fire?”

  Roen didn’t pretend not to understand. “I will speak to Nash and Brigan, and I’ll introduce her to them myself.”

  Archer was not soothed. “Will they be a danger to her?” Roen regarded him for a moment in silence, and then turned her eyes to Fire. Fire saw sympathy there, possibly even apology. “I know my sons,” she said, “and I know Fire. Brigan will not like her, and Nash will like her overly. But neither of them will be too much for her to handle.”

  Archer caught his breath and clapped his fork onto the table. He sat back, his mouth tight. Fire knew that the presence of a lady queen was the only reason he wasn’t saying what she could read in his ey
es: She should not have come.

  A small determination flamed inside her breast. She decided to adopt Roen’s attitude.

  Neither the king nor the commander would be too much for her.

  OF COURSE, CIRCUMSTANCES don’t always align themselves with human intention, and Roen could not be everywhere at once. Fire was crossing the main courtyard with Archer after dinner, on her way to the sleeping quarters, when it happened. In the same instant that she sensed minds approaching, the gates flew open. Two men on horses clattered inside, overwhelming the space with their noise and their presence, backlit by a bonfire blazing outside the gates. Archer and everyone else in the courtyard dropped to one knee, except for Fire, who stood paralyzed, shocked. The man on the first horse looked like every painting she’d ever seen of King Nax, and the man on the second horse was her father.

  Her mind was on fire. Cansrel. In the light of the flames his hair flashed silver and blue, his eyes blue and beautiful. She stared into those eyes and saw them staring back at her with hatred, anger, because it was Cansrel come back from death and there was no hiding herself from him.

  “Kneel,” Archer said beside her, but it was unnecessary, for she fell to both knees.

  And then the gates swung shut. The white blaze of the bonfire receded, and all was yellow in the light of the courtyard torches. And still the man on the horse stared at her with hatred, but as the shadows settled it was no longer Cansrel’s hatred. His hair was dark, his eyes were pale, and she saw that this was nothing but an ordinary man.

  She was shaking, cold on the ground. And now of course she recognized his black mare, and his handsome brother, and his handsome brother’s roan. Not Nax and Cansrel, but Nash and Brigan. They swung down from their saddles and stood arguing beside their horses. Shaking as she was, their words came to her slowly. Brigan said something about throwing someone to the raptors. Nash said that he was king, and it was his decision, and he wasn’t throwing a woman who looked like that to any raptors.