Shadow of the Overlord

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You need to accept that.”

Okara nodded as though agreeing and Taliesimon clenched her jaw, forcing down the angry retort. She sucked in a deep breath and blew it out, pushing her anger out with it. He was right, of course. She hated having to admit it. She wanted to believe in the inherent goodness of humanity. But he was right. She was being naïve and expecting those other boys to be as idealistic as she, when they had already proved several times that the only place that kind of goodness existed was inside her own head. She nodded.

“Do it,” Okara said, eyes on Jonah. With a nod, he wiped his hands on his breeches and bent his knees. He dropped into a crouch and rose back up. He repeated the motion several times, then wiped his hand again and leaped straight up. Just reaching the strut, Jonah grasped it and hung on. Taliesimon grinned at Okara, their argument forgotten, and was surprised to find the younger girl grinning back at her. Jonah slipped and fell back to the raft, rocking it to one side. The edge dipped into the mud and Taliesimon scrambled to hold on as she slipped down toward the edge. Before she reached the middle of the raft, it tipped back the other way and leveled out. She sighed in relief. “Everyone okay?”

The others grunted.

“Plan B?”

Okara pointed upward. “Look.” The wood of the tower glistened wetly, but only to a height of about four spans. Above that, the wood was dull and dry. Taliesimon nodded. “Jonah, do you think the top of the strut is greased?”

He glanced at his palms, glistening with the sheen of oil, but the ends of his fingers were dry from the last knuckle to the tips. “I don’t think so.”

She nodded and glanced between her companions. Each nodded with a smile. They seemed to know what she was thinking and agreed. Jonah beckoned to her with his hands. Nodding again, Taliesimon used his interlocked fingers to climb up onto his shoulders. With a foot on each shoulder, she almost fell, but reached up and grabbed the greasy strut above her head. “Okay, your turn, Okara.”

The small girl hopped up onto Jonah, as though her hands stuck to him without effort. How does she do that? Almost as though she were a spider climbing a sheer wall, Okara climbed up to share Taliesimon’s place on Jonah’s shoulders, then climbed up her back. Jonah trembled with strain below them, but made no sound of complaint. A moment later, Okara hopped up onto the strut. She wrapped one arm around the leg and reached the other down to Taliesimon and helped her up.

“How do we get Jonah up?”

Without a word, Okara wrapped her legs around the tower leg and lay down on the strut. She reached her arms down and took Jonah by the hands. Taliesimon looked on dubiously. “Oh, no,” she said as she noticed a few of the boys had seen what they were doing and were moving around the tower legs to the raft. Jonah glanced toward the boys, then nodded up to Okara. Wrapping her left arm around the strut, the small girl gripped Jonah’s hand. He clasped both his hands around her small arm and hopped up as she pulled. Taliesimon struggled not to laugh. Inexplicably, the girl held on. She swung him toward the tower leg at her feet, then the other way. She repeated the motion three times, reaching greater height each time. Then on the fourth, as a tall boy climbed up on the raft while it drafted past the tower leg, she swung Jonah up to land on the strut. He immediately wrapped his arms and legs around it. From behind him, Taliesimon helped him to roll over and pulled him up to his feet. She turned to face Okara, who was back on her feet. “How did you do that?”

“Stronger than I look,” Okara said off-handedly. Taliesimon shook her head in disbelief. There had to be more to it than that, but this was neither the time nor the place to press the younger girl for details. They had more important worries just now.

“Let’s move,” Jonah said, seeming unfazed. Taliesimon and Okara both nodded. The dry part of the legs were still two spans up, too far for any of them to get to and be able to hang onto. Well, perhaps not, she amended. If Okara can swing Jonah up like that, then she could probably jump up and climb it.

“Turn around,” Jonah said. Confused, she obeyed and found herself rising up from a pressure between her legs. Startled, she glanced down and found Jonah’s head, his shoulders beneath her thighs. How are these kids this strong? she wondered. To say nothing of their stamina. Having been raised on a farm, she was no stranger to hard work. She was used to spending nearly all of the eighteen turns of daylight out on the farm working the land with Father. And she was exhausted. Perhaps she just wasn’t as tough as she thought she was? With help from Jonah’s interlaced fingers, she got to her feet on his shoulders and reached up to grasp the dry wood of the leg as high as she could. Oh, she thought as her fingers touched the wood. It was textured with roughly finger-shaped nubs. That’s handy. She climbed up a few spans, then stopped to see how he would get up. Okara pulled off her sandals and thrust them into the waist of her breeches, then climbed up on Jonah’s shoulders and climbed onto the tower leg. Gods, the girl made it look so easy! Incredibly, once the bald girl got her feet just above the greased section of the leg, she stopped. As before, she wrapped her legs around the tower leg and seemed to lock her long toes into the finger nubs. After a moment of securing herself, Okara fell backward and Taliesimon almost screamed. But the girl stopped. Her legs and toes were still secure on the leg and she stretched her arms down, lacing her fingers together for Jonah to use as a step to climb up.

“Come on,” Okara said, impatient. Glancing down, Taliesimon found the other boys at the bottom were following their example and using the raft and each other to begin climbing the tower legs. They were running out of time. From the tension in Jonah’s back, she could well imagine the expression on his face. He hesitated only a moment, however, before he stepped a foot into her laced hands and used the folds of her breeches as he climbed up Okara’s body. As soon as he was above Okara’s legs, he reached down and took her hand to help her up. There were a few awkward moments as the two were in the same space on the tower leg, then Okara climbed up above Jonah and led the charge upward. It took only a few minutes for all three of them to get up the legs and climb up onto the platform at the top. Taliesimon fell on her back, breathing heavily.

“So,” Jonah panted. “There’s no. Way to. Get up. Here. Without. Working with. At least. One. Partner. Right?”

“That’s right,” Okara said from where she stood. She didn’t even sound winded! How is that possible? Taliesimon finally caught her breath and stood. Okara was waiting at the open edge of the platform where vine ropes were secured.

“Ready?” Okara asked. Taliesimon nodded and glanced at Jonah.

“Let’s do it.”

They each grasped a vine. Okara offered an encouraging smile and Taliesimon pulled the vine tight, wrapped her arms and legs around it, and jumped from the tower at almost the same time as her companions. The boiling black mud passed by below her and time seemed to slow again. The wind on her face was wonderfully cool, but brought with it a rotten, rancid smell unlike anything she’d ever experienced. Time resumed its normal speed and the drop leveled out, then she started swinging upward. After a moment, she passed over the sharpened stakes at the end of the pit, but kept rising and flying across the path. Is there a way off this vine without dropping the thirty spans to the path below? she wondered with trepidation.CHAPTER TEN

GRAUMDOR STUMBLED BACK, his spear flashing first to one side, then the other, in desperation. Only just fending off Eklindiss’s attacks, he had no time to analyze the larger man’s attack pattern for weaknesses. His opponent spun around and swung his spear toward Graumdor’s face. He tried to get his spear up in time to deflect the blow–

He looked up from the ground, a line of fire burning in his cheek. Leaping to his feet, he spun to face the older man once more. Eklindiss gave a wicked smile, his dry, cracked lips dripping blood down his smooth-shaven chin.

“Quit while you can, scholar. The fighting pit is no place for you.”

Graumdor shook his head. “No. This is where I belong. I want combat. I want battle. I want blood.”

Eklindiss’s smile widened and turned savage. “As you wish, Ink hand. Blood you shall have.” Without warning, his spear flashed toward Graumdor’s face again. Once more, it connected before he could get his spear up to defend. This time, the shaft slammed into the side of his head and he tumbled sideways to the ground. With a growl and a shake of his head, Graumdor climbed to his feet. Feigning more weakness than he felt, he leaned on his spear, digging its tip into the soft soil beneath his feet. The older man chuckled. “Are you truly so weak? Even a lowly ink hand should have more strength than you.”

Swallowing his anger, Graumdor kept his face neutral. Perhaps it would seem more natural if he did not, but he could not afford to lose his mind to anger now. His chances of coming out of this alive were exceptionally slim as it was. He backed up a few steps, almost to the limits of the pit before he stopped and raised his spear a hand-width out of the dirt. He spat a mouthful of blood into the dirt and waited for his opponent to come. Eklindiss shook his head, as though in disbelief, and advanced on Graumdor. “If you truly wish to die, I will grant your wish, whelp.”

Graumdor clenched his teeth to keep himself from hurling furious insults at the larger man. Now was not the time. He wasn’t likely to get more than one chance at this. The older man leaped at him, bringing his spear down in a deadly arc. The leaping man’s mouth was open wide in a scream that he couldn’t hear, the beating of his pulse in his ears overpowering everything else. He imagined the crowd around him were likely roaring and jeering at the two of them, but he couldn’t hear that either. Even his own thoughts were but a vague whisper over the thudding of his heart. He struggled to force himself to wait until the last possible moment. The leaping man was several paces above him now with the spear driving down toward him. If it connected, it would impale him. This was it. He held his position for just a moment longer, until he could be certain his adversary would be unable to correct his course. Now! Graumdor thought as he spun to come around behind his opponent, spinning his spear toward the man’s head. In an instant which seemed to go on through all the ages of the world, the butt end of the shaft of his spear connected with the back of his opponent’s head with a thunderous c***k that somehow resounded in his ears over the thumping of his heart. Eklindiss pitched forward face-first into the dirt. Without hesitation, Graumdor leaped forward with his spear in both hands and plunged the weapon deep into the older man’s back. It slid into the thick cords of muscle almost without resistance to well beyond the sharpened, tapering point before it hit something solid and the spear stopped. Graumdor leaned all his weight onto the spear, pushing it deeper. It moved down less than a handspan before stopping again. The fallen man’s body trembled, a foot kicked and his neck twitched, then he stilled. His dark flesh paled to almost white as the blood leaked from his body. Releasing the spear, Graumdor turned to look at his audience. Without exception, shock colored the features of the onlookers. Each and every one of them stood with drooping jaws and wide eyes. Graumdor spread his arms wide and stared accusingly at each and every one of them. Had they all known how overmatched he was? Did they all know that he was supposed to either give up or die? Did this happen every time? Did they intentionally try to w**d out everyone they considered unsuitable for the position? Rage boiled in his veins. Was this truly what his people had become? The Editor came forward, reaching out a hand, but Graumdor snatched his arm away from the wizened Editor, raising his hands in victory himself with a roar. He stared accusingly at the Editor and spoke in an undertone. “I know what happened here. You’re going to tell me everything.”

Ignoring him, the Editor moved around the fighting pit announcing Graumdor as the victor. He gritted his teeth. This was neither the time nor the place, but he was going to find an answer to this. He would not rest until he had answers. If this was truly what his people had become, then he needed to do something about it. Stabbing each other in the back for advancement was one thing, but conspiring to keep those perceived as weak from even entering into service was not acceptable. Not in his wildest nightmares had he imagined such treachery. You and I will have words, Editor. Make no mistake.CHAPTER ELEVEN

DARGON OPENED HIS eyes and jerked bolt upright. Looking around, he found he was on a wool-wrapped couch in a small, dimly lit chamber. A granite table with two oak chairs sat against the opposite wall near a closed door. Where am I? he wondered. What happened? He swung his legs off the couch and stood. His legs wobbled a bit, one knee buckling beneath him. Heart hammering in his chest, he shot his hand out to catch himself on the arm of the couch and only just kept himself from falling to the hard stone floor. With another glance about, he noted the smallness and austerity of the room. The stone walls were bare and spaced just wide enough to house the couch and leave three paces of walking space between the couch and chair. There were no windows and no decorations. The empty table reminded him of his hunger a bare instant before his stomach growled, and the unmarked and unadorned chairs emphasized that he was alone here. Dargon sighed and tried moving a step or two while still within reach of the couch. His legs appeared to be willing to support his weight this time. With a nod, he started toward the door. His fingers were less than a handspan from the handle when the door swung inward. He yanked his hand back and stepped backward, away from the door. A dark figure clad in hooded robes with the cowl pulled low stood in the doorway, colorless eyes glinting in the dim light as it watched him.

“Who are you?” he asked. The figure chuckled. “You gave us quite a scare, Your Highness. How are you feeling?” The voice sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

“I don’t…”

The figure reached up and pushed its hood back. Dargon knew somewhere in the back of his mind that he shouldn’t be able to see so clearly. The scant candlelight in the room was not nearly bright enough to see by, and there were no windows and no light streamed in from the open door. Yet he saw the man’s features clearly.

“Trevan! Where am I? How did I get here?”

The Trevan smiled. “Your Highness, by chance I was on my way to the library to find a recipe for burn relief, as there was a fire in the temple this morning, and I found you passed out in the library doorway. I brought you straight here. I didn’t expect you would want your father to see you like this. What were you doing down there, my lord?”

“I,” he paused. Did he dare reveal this to the Trevan? The man’s true loyalty was to the King, after all. “I frequently go down there to… to read.”

“Ahhh,” the Trevan said, as though it explained everything. “Do you remember what happened down there? What were you doing in the doorway?”

“I don’t remember,” Dargon said. “Gah!” he shrieked, clasping his hands around his head as excruciating pain lanced his skull. Through hazy vision, Dargon saw the Trevan pull a dripping wash cloth from just outside the room. He placed it on Dargon’s head and gently pushed him back to the couch and down to lie with his head on the arm of the couch.

“What’s happening to me?” Dargon whispered. His vision flared pure white, obscuring everything in the room. He sensed the Trevan still there, but couldn’t see him.

“It’s all part of the process,” the Trevan whispered, cryptic as ever.

“Part of the… what are you talking about?”

“You’ll understand when it passes.”

“When what passes?” Dargon growled through clenched teeth, at the lowest volume he could manage.

“Dargon,” the Trevan said gently. “I know you have questions. But please, just trust me. The headaches will pass. Soon your body will ache as with influenza. You’ll be nauseated. It will all pass. Unfortunately, there is nothing I can do to speed the process nor avoid it. I will do my best to help you feel more comfortable while it runs its course. When it is done, we’ll talk about all this and I will do what I can for you.”

“But–” Dargon gasped, making his head hurt even worse.

“Shhh,” the Trevan whispered. “Just hush. We’ll talk when you feel better.”

Dargon tried to nod, but his head didn’t seem to move. A strip of something colder than ice covered Dargon’s forehead and, amazingly, the pain in his head seemed to abate just a bit. He said this would get worse! he though with trepidation. He closed his eyes, hoping to sleep it off, but then the pain flared again, worse than ever. He clenched his fists against the pain, and after a moment, his shoulders and chest began to ache as well.

“Don’t try to sleep,” the Trevan whispered.CHAPTER TWELVE

TALIESIMON FELL. Her time clinging to the vine rope felt like an eternity of flying through a maze of trees, yet somehow she hadn’t struck a single one. At last, she had come to the end of the rope. The vine had snapped tight and though she hung on with all her might, the rope slid through her palms, burning them until she couldn’t hold on any longer. The fall ended so abruptly, she didn’t even have time to scream. She clenched her teeth against the impact, but it never came. Her back struck something soft and water splashed around her. She sunk below the surface and only just stopped herself breathing in the clean, blue water. She spun beneath the water, the light above growing dimmer with each rotation. Her heart thundered in her ears as she thrust her arms down and kicked her feet trying to regain control of her body’s movements. Her lungs burned when she finally earned a modicum of control and angled her body upward. The burning in her lungs increased as she worked out how to move in this underwater domain. Finally, she oriented herself and kicked toward the surface. The crimson light of Kaustere above turned the watery world around her a bright, beautiful purple. Within moments, her head broke the surface and she sucked in a delicious breath of air. The rushing river dragged her along, white foam obscuring her vision and threatening to push her back below the surface. Where are the others? she wondered, but couldn’t devote any more of her attention to her friends. Keeping herself above the surface consumed so much of her focus, she couldn’t even try to find the others. With each kick of her feet and paddle of her arms, she pushed toward the bank to her right. With her flagging strength, it wouldn’t be long before she could no longer keep herself above the raging surface of the river. She had to get out of the water before that happened or... Well, there was no alternative. She had to get out of the river. Her legs burned with every kick, her shoulders ached with every stroke. Her lungs felt as though they were full of steam. From nowhere, a boulder appeared in front of her. She tried to push past it but it was too close. After a left stroke, her shoulder struck the rock and was followed by the side of her head. Pain exploded above her ear and her vision was obliterated by a blast of bright white and she felt herself slip below the surface. A moment later, she flew out of the water and breathed in. She seemed suspended in midair. What’s going on? she thought, and clenched her eyes shut. With an icy wind rushing past her, she opened them again and found a roiling pool rising up to meet the wall of water cascading around her and a rough, rocky wall behind it. A waterfall? She belly-flopped into the pool and her stomach and chest exploded in agony. A flurry of air bubbles surrounded her, obscuring her vision. She prayed the pool was deep enough to not be deadly. Her feet struck the rocky bottom, jarring her knees painfully. With what she hoped wasn’t the last of her strength, she pushed off the bottom and kicked toward the surface once more. Within moments, she again broke the surface of the water. But this time, she found cool, calm water around her. With a sigh of relief, she looked around and found herself alone. She took a deep, burning breath, and swam toward the left bank as it was nearer than the others. Finally, her feet touched the muddy bottom and she stood. After only a few steps, she stumbled and fell down to hands and knees. She crawled the rest of the way out of the water. Once her body fully cleared the water, she fell to her belly and rolled over. Asmodere partially covered Kaustere in the sky above. No, she thought, cringing. That isn’t possible. She clenched her eyes tight, then opened them and looked again. This time, she saw Kaustere with a sliver of Asmodere trailing after him. That was better. It would be months before Asmodere became the dominant fire in the sky. She forced her muscles to relax as much as was possible and closed her eyes. She took a deep breath and released it slowly. Before her next breath, she was asleep. Through a wonderful dream of being a regional commander of the dragoons, Taliesimon heard the crunch of boots on wet sand and knew instantly it didn’t belong. The dream vanished and her awareness returned to her battered, exhausted body. She still lay on her back. Her clothes were dry now, warmed by the burning cousins in the sky, though she felt coarse sand beneath her bare back. She made an effort to keep her breathing slow and even. Whoever was there, she’d be better off if they thought her still asleep.

“Do you think she’s okay?” a familiar voice whispered.

“I’m sure she’s fine. Just exhausted. Her road here was rather more difficult than ours, I’d wager.”

“Do we wake her?”

“Unless you want to carry her or leave her. We have to move. There are still a lot of potentials ahead of us. It’s hard to say for certain, but I think it’s still too many for us to make it without overtaking more of them.”

He sighed. “Okay.”

More sand crunched wetly as someone knelt beside her. She counted out the seconds, then flashed her eyes open and grinned as she shot her hand up toward him. Correcting her course as he came into focus, she caught his hand in hers. The startled, wide-eyed expression on his face brought a laugh of genuine mirth to her lips. Jonah grinned at her and laughed as well.

“Yet another very touching moment,” Okara said scathingly. “But can we get moving, please? Our time is running out and we’re still behind.”

Sobering, Taliesimon nodded. Jonah extended a hand, which she took, allowing him to help her to her feet. The two followed after Okara, who had already moved toward a trail leading away from the pool.

“How did you find me?” Taliesimon asked.

“Everyone passes this place,” Okara said. Jonah flashed a mischievous half-smile. “You missed something. There was a new rope to jump to near the end point of the first. That one dropped us up there.” He pointed to a platform suspended between four trees next to the waterfall. Taliesimon nodded. “Of course there was.”

Jonah raised his brows. She sighed. “I always manage to take the more difficult path, somehow. So missing the easier route is in perfect keeping with my usual luck. Or lack thereof, to be more accurate.”

Jonah chuckled lightly and grinned. “At least we’re still together.”

Taliesimon offered a half-hearted smile.

“I’m serious!”

Okara scoffed.

“Right,” Taliesimon said, not even trying to disguise her sarcasm. Jonah reached out and grabbed Okara by the arm. She tried to pull free, but he held her fast as he grabbed Taliesimon’s arm with his other hand. He turned her and Okara to face each other, his face set in a grim line. He glared at them. “Now you two listen to me! Whatever this thing is between you two, you need to settle it. Do either of you think you could have gotten up the tower without the other?”

“Yes!” Taliesimon said, and was surprised to hear the younger girl say it with her.

“Excuse me?” she said, and again the words were reflected back at her. She glared into Okara’s glowering eyes.

“Really?” Jonah said, annoyed. “Tell me, Okara, would you have taken off your breeches to tie up the raft? Would you have even thought of using our clothes?”

“And Taliesimon. Without Okara’s idea with the stakes, I doubt I ever would have even thought of putting together a raft. And Okara was the one who thought of climbing on each other’s shoulders to get onto the strut and above the oil. Would you have come up with that without her?”

“And finally, if either of you think we could have gotten up onto the strut without all three of us, then you weren’t paying attention. Look, girls, my whole point here is it’s the three of us, all three of us, that has allowed us to make it this far, against all odds, against all that anyone else wants to see happen. It’s the three of us. Together. That is our strength. Unity. Teamwork. Any one of us alone would have failed already.”

“So I say again, whatever this is, settle it. We need to be a team to get through this.”

Taliesimon wanted to fight. She wanted to argue. She wanted to refute his words. To tell him he’d been sniffing too much mud. But she couldn’t. Jonah made too much sense. He was right, damn him. They had to at least put this… whatever it was, on hold until after the testing was finished. Right now, like it or not, they needed each other. While she reached that conclusion, she watched a similar battle take place on Okara’s small face. The girl glared, then her face blanked, her eyes rolling upward. By the time Jonah finished speaking, her expression had turned thoughtful and she looked at Taliesimon with something resembling acceptance. Taliesimon guessed her expression was much the same. She nodded at the very moment Okara did, but while she smiled, the younger girl grimaced. Is that what my forced smile looks like, too? she wondered.

“Until the testing is done, then,” she said, and Okara nodded again.

“I suppose it’ll have to do,” Jonah said angrily. Taliesimon shrugged and followed, letting the boy lead them for once.

For a time, Taliesimon limited her movement to a fast walk while she got her body used to the exertion again. Blood flowing through her warmed her hands and feet and slowly the aches and stiffness worked their way out of her muscles. Judging herself ready, she picked up her feet in a measured jog and her companions did likewise. Within minutes her thighs were burning again, but she ignored it and maintained her pace. She also ignored the pain beginning in her lungs. Turning the fourth bend since leaving the pool, she saw the backs of several boys jogging down the path ahead of them. Taliesimon glanced to her companions, who moved back even with her. With a nod to them, she took a deep, painful breath and pushed her body harder to increase her pace. She ran with all her strength. Within moments, sweat broke out on her forehead, her pulse thundered in her ears, and the painful burning in her thighs increased and spread down into her feet and up into her sides and shoulders. In spite of the pain, she smiled. They were gaining ground on the boys ahead of them, and quickly. The pain in her thighs was approaching unbearability, but she did her best to push the sensation to the back of her awareness. Now was not a time for such weakness, they needed to push themselves forward. They needed to overtake these boys and keep moving. It wasn’t too late! They still had time to improve their standing enough to move forward past the Gauntlet, she was sure of it. Now is not the time for sympathy, she thought. If I don’t take these boys out of the competition then Okara will. And she’ll continue to think me weak. So would Jonah. He hadn’t expressed such things before, but she felt it had to be true. Her already hot face flushed with more blood and heat at that thought. I will not be thought weak by some… boy! she insisted. The boys were put a handful of paces ahead of her when she finalized her decision. She committed herself. She had to act. A few more seconds passed and she leaped, her foot flying out ahead of her. It connected, all of her weight bearing down on the side of the boy’s knee. She felt the crunch beneath her foot before she heard it. The snap was a grotesque sound, much like the snap of a chicken leg at supper. The boy shrieked in agony and crumpled. He tumbled through the dirt, raising a huge cloud of dust. Another snap came, but she didn’t look back to see what it was. A second voice joined the wails behind her. At her right, another boy fell with a snap and a scream. Okara treated her with a genuine smile and, inexplicably, her spirits soared. Within minutes, the trio turned another bend and found themselves alone once more. Taliesimon couldn’t help feeling optimistic for the first time since the Gauntlet began. It seemed she actually had a real chance now. She let herself slow to a jog again as she turned another bend and found another short straightaway, which led to yet another bend in the path. She rounded the bend and skidded to a stop, dust rising around her. Jonah slammed into her from behind, nearly knocking her over. Ahead was a wide patch of gravel, the tiny rocks glittering in the crimson light of Kaustere. At the edge of the rocky patch was a drop off to a frothy stretch of whitewater river. At the far bank of the rapids, a long series of vine ropes were tied into loose hand and foot holds that stretched across the path from one broad tree to the other. The vines rose out of the water and reached as far up the trees as she could see.

“It looks like that goes all the way up over the tops of the trees,” Taliesimon whispered. There were at least three dozen aspiring dragoons at various points of the vine netting ahead. Most were quite low, however. A strange choking sound behind her made Taliesimon turn around. Jonah was down in a crouch with his head between his legs, dry heaving. Okara slapped him on the back with decidedly more force that was necessary to offer support. Jonah coughed and spat, then stood back up. He looked queasy still, but he set his lips in a thin, grim line. Taliesimon gave a single nod.

“You ready for this?” she asked, her eyes on Okara. The smaller girl gave a slow nod, though her eyes looked uncertain. Taliesimon held out her arms. “Until we are on that net, we hold to one another. As I see it, our only chance of getting through these rapids is together.”

Taliesimon looked to Jonah first. He gave a shaky nod. Then she looked to Okara, who gave a curt nod. She held out her hands and each of her companions grasped one. She started toward the gravel field. Her first steps were shaky, her body seemed to be trying to argue with her determination to proceed through these obstacles. We can do this, she thought. We will do this. We can do this. We will do this. She continued thinking the words over and over and over, as a mantra to convince herself that not only could she make it through this, but that she would. Not only would they make it, not only would they survive, but they would come through this unscathed and none the worse for wear. By the time she reached the gravel, she almost believed it. At her second step onto the gravel, her feet began to grow warm and she almost lost her nerve. Those stones were not gravel, she realized. What were they? With a swift downward glance she found the answer. Beneath her feet, rather than gravel she found dully glowing, red-hot coals which distorted the air with waves of intense heat.

“Oh, torthugra guts,” Okara swore with something approaching despair.CHAPTER THIRTEEN

QUILLLIAURRAN LOOKED UP from his meal of blood oranges, wild carrots, and diamondwood bark. Sindorriaunna was always the first to make sport of him for eating the bark, as she was doing now, but he knew it to be great for adding sparkle to the scales.

“I know you are only trying to steer me toward better health. But truly, the bark is the most nutritious part of the meal.”

Sindor scoffed. “What you need, my dear clutch-mate, are eighteen or twenty good haunches of venison. That would sharpen those teeth and claws right up and add a brilliant sheen to those purple scales.”

“And yet,” he said placidly. “My scales sparkle more than yours do.”

She scowled. “What would you know,” she muttered. Quill beamed at her, a grin splitting his snout.

“Truly,” she said as a purple streak flashed seemingly from nowhere to strike the side of his head with an audible c***k that spun his head down to one side. “You must learn to be less trusting, less kind. This world will eat you alive if you don’t learn this lesson.”

Quill spit deep violet blood from his mouth to splatter the rocks near Sindor’s paws. “Thank you for the lesson.”

The larger wyrm nodded to him and turned away, stalking into the deeper forest. A few paces before disappearing from his sight, she turned her head around to watch him. “I almost forgot, you have been commanded to take audience with the Underlord today at midday.”

“B-b-but,” he spluttered. “But that’s less than an hour from now! And the Underlord is all the way across the strait on Thorutia!”

“Then you’d better hurry,” she said sweetly. Quill opened his mouth to argue further, but the glare she shot him made him close it again. He nodded as he recalled who it was he was dealing with. While it was true that sometimes Sindorriaunna could be reasoned with or persuaded, the Underlord was another matter. The enormous malachite wyrm who ruled Thorutia in the Overlord’s name could not be persuaded. She could not be reasoned with. That one lived in a reality all her own, in which anything she desired was hers and all things she opposed were punishable by death.

“Do you know what it’s about?” he called belatedly, after Sindor had disappeared into the woods.

“Not sure,” her voice came back on the wind. “Might have been something about your bonding.”

“What?” Quill breathed. “Bonding?”

What could it possibly have to do with my bonding? he thought. I’m still far too young to be bonded. What use would I be in the union? Quillliaurran shook his head violently to clear the questions. It was only partially successful. He dove back into his meal and gulped down the last of it in three large bites. There was no more time to dally, he knew. While it wasn’t a long flight across the strait, it was long enough that his arriving on time was far from assured. He wiped a thin stream of blood orange juice from his jaw and leaped into the air, snapping his wings out at the zenith of his leap. With several thrusts of his wings, he climbed to cruising altitude. Even now, after seeing it hundreds of times, Quill was in awe of the beauty of the landscape below. The trees of the Verdant Forest were eternally green and blanketed the hills with thicker foliage than seemed possible, especially since they were so recently out of a years-long winter. Seasons didn’t seem to affect the Verdant Forest like they did other forests, though. Even with half a wingspan of snow covering the land, the Verdant forest had been thick and green. A short distance ahead, a flight of blackbirds broke from the cover of the trees and raced away from Quill in all directions. He laughed heartily. I’m not going to hurt you, little birds. Other dragons may choose to make a tender morsel of you, but not me. In most forests Quill had seen, the trees ended not in a solid line but in a gradual thinning of the trees. The forest would lighten bit by bit, with more and more distance between trees, until it was no more than the occasional tree and then no trees at all. Not so the Verdant Forest. Its border was a thick rank of evergreen trees, from spruces to pines to firs. In some places, the trees ended less than a wingspan from the eastern shore, though the line zigged and zagged up and down the coast. The one consistency, however, was that by the time one was a wingspan past the border into the woods, the density of the trees became overwhelming. Once he passed the beach, Quill dipped lower in his flight. Ordinarily, he didn’t enjoy flight any more than he did walking. It was boring and tiring. Well, except for the majestic view over the Verdant Forest. That was an experience all its own, but could be seen without the effort of traveling in flight. Sea spray, though. That could only be felt in flight. Certainly, one could catch the occasional spray hovering over the water, but the constant spray of droplets in his face? That could only be felt when traveling over the ocean at high speed while less than a wingspan above the surface of the water, where the waves would almost touch him. Sea spray in the face was the ultimate feeling. Sometimes, when the waves would crash just the right way, instead of droplets the spray would come up as a fine mist. That was the best. The tiny droplets making up the mist could get under his scales to touch the hot flesh beneath, cooling it just a bit. Thinking of it, he dropped toward the water and almost immediately the droplets sprayed upward to splash on his belly and underjaw. He shivered with pleasure at the sensation. After several minutes, a tall wave came up to just graze his lazily hanging rear claws and he grinned in anticipation. An instant later, when the wave crashed back to the surface of the water, a spray of mist flew up just in time to envelop the lowest tenth of his tail. He squirmed with the pleasure of it. Okay, that’s enough, he thought after a minute. Time to fly like the wind. I need to be standing in front of the Underlord by the stroke of midday. Rising higher, Quill pumped his wings harder and faster. To the very edge of his endurance, he flapped his wings faster and faster. It wasn’t that he was afraid of the Underlord, exactly. It was only that he preferred not to face the consequences of failing to obey her.CHAPTER FOURTEEN

TALIESIMON TIGHTENED HER grip on the two hands within hers and dashed forward before she could lose her nerve. Jonah shouldn’t have any problems, she thought. With those thick, fancy boots the heat probably won’t even touch his feet. But Okara and I–

Okara grunted as they ran over the hot coals. Taliesimon’s feet were growing hot, but so far it was only mildly uncomfortable. Jonah’s sweat slicked hand squeezed Taliesimon’s while Okara pulled away, speeding across the coals almost too fast to keep up with. Then, the burning began. It started as such a small thing. Something akin to a kitten repeatedly scraping the bottoms of her feet. By her tenth step into the coals, however, it grew into true pain. She likened the feeling to how she supposed it would feel to be dragged behind a galloping horse with bare feet scraping on the cobblestones. Pushing her tired and sore muscles as hard as she could, she pushed her speed to the fastest sprint she could manage. Looking ahead, she found the bank and the cool water of the river at least half a hundred spans away! Immediately, the pain in her feet intensified. The sensation was exactly as she imagined it might feel to have a hundred sewing needles plunged into her soles at once. Repeatedly. Growling in her throat, Taliesimon pushed her small legs faster, drawing on pain-induced strength she’d never known she had. Just as Okara dragged at her hand from ahead, she dragged Jonah by the hand behind her. Sweat plastered her hair to her face, yet not the faintest hint of moisture remained in her mouth. It was almost as though all the saliva from her mouth had traveled to her forehead. The fiery agony in her feet was now beyond anything she had words to describe, and the only things keeping her moving were the knowledge that it was now farther to go back than to continue forward and in those thin leather sandals, Okara had to be in much greater pain than she was. With gritted teeth, she pushed herself harder, forcing her legs to pump ever faster. And Jonah’s grunt of pain a moment later only moved her to push even harder, all her energy surging into her legs. With the intensity of the burning agony on the soles of her feet, it wouldn’t have surprised her to find her feet had melted off and she was now running on the stumps of her ankles. She couldn’t believe they weren’t past these hot coals yet. It seemed as though she had been running along them for ages. Gradually, the agony of the burning in her feet dimmed to a dull ache, not unlike a simple headache. It was almost as though her body had lost the ability to process greater pain. Through Okara’s grunts and her own growls, the sound of wet sizzling reached her ears. What was anyone doing sprinkling water into a greased frying pan at a time like this? Glancing up from the ground, she rushed into a cloud of fine mist, which immediately coated her face, cooling the streams of sweat that were beginning to blind her. She felt confused for a moment, wondering what was going on. Okara’s hand trembled in hers, but it did not feel like a fearful trembling. More like excitement. Then she realized what it was. This mist was from the raging rapids of the river! All. Most. There, she thought, though she was too numb now to feel excitement herself. She tried to shorten her last few steps in preparation for the jump, as she had earlier in the day, but found her body refused to cooperate. It seemed her feet decided of their own accord that they would not spend an instant longer than absolutely necessary on the hot coals. Without warning, she was yanked back and down and an agonized shriek filled her ears. She turned, keeping her feet largely on account of Okara pulling her other hand in the opposite direction, to find Jonah on his knees on the red-hot coals, his flesh steaming as it began to cook. His shriek curdled her blood and the stench of his knees cooking brought bile to her throat. The scent was far too similar to pit-roasted boar. The flaming shine in his wide eyes brought tears to her own. She fought them back, blinking furiously as she yanked Jonah to his feet. He rose with a ripping sound and his screaming intensified. Red blood splattered onto the coals, brown steam rising instantly. With Okara pulling on her other hand, she dragged Jonah the last few steps and pulled him into her arms as she fell off the ledge into the white-water rapids below. The drop was longer than she had expected, being at least thrice her height. She expected this river to be a similar experience to the last one she’d tumbled into; a painful struggle, certainly, but perfectly survivable. Okara wrapped an arm around Taliesimon’s waist as they splashed into the frothing river and the shock almost forced her to release Jonah’s arms. The first river she’d swum had been cold, she’d thought. But this one was ice. Her flesh went instantly numb and her teeth chattered. She tumbled feet over head until she couldn’t tell which direction was up. Everywhere she looked, surging water and air bubbles obscured her vision and kept the surrounding fluid dark. No direction looked brighter than any other. There were no telltale purple highlights to hint at the direction of Kaustere. With wide eyes, she stared in all directions and held on to her friends as tight as she could. She pulled them closer, using her head to gesture all around, up, down, and everywhere in between, and shrugged. The three tumbled with the current, Okara glaring at Taliesimon. Jonah stared around wildly, looking helpless. Air bubbles leaked from each of their noses. Taliesimon’s chest started to burn. She exhaled involuntarily, the air bubbles flooding from her mouth. They floated down past her still-burning feet and the solution smashed its way into her numb mind as though it were the stone spike of a war hammer. Air bubbles always float toward the surface! Gripping the other two by the hands, she turned herself upside down and kicked as hard as she could as she slowly released a bit more air from her mouth. Okara pulled back on her hand and glared. Taliesimon glared right back and as she breathed out another small breath, she pointed at the bubbles, now floating what seemed like down beneath her head. Realization seemed to down in Okara’s wide eyes and she nodded, then kicked in that direction with Taliesimon. Her lungs burned almost as much as her feet had on the coals. She kicked harder and yanked on the hands of the others as her desperation grew. She pushed the last of the air from her body and the burning intensified further. She kicked with all her might, following the last of her air bubbles toward the surface. The urge to breathe in the water was fast becoming unbearable. They didn’t seem to be getting any closer to the surface. The water was every bit as dark as ever, and there weren’t any other indications of the passage of distance. Taliesimon found herself wondering if they were moving at all. Or perhaps she was wrong about the direction of air bubbles under water. Or, most disturbing of all, perhaps somehow the rules of nature were different here? The thought sent a chilling shiver down her already numb spine. She kicked and kicked, refusing to give up. She fought the urge to breathe in. She fought against the dimming around the edges of her vision. She fought against the burning pain in her legs and lungs. Yet, no matter how hard she fought, it grew harder and harder to ignore the darkness around her, a darkness that kept whispering in her mind that it was a waste. It was over. She wasn’t going to survive this. A black ring appeared around her vision and grew in from the edges, obliterating her view of the dark underwater world. The burning in her chest felt as though she’d swallowed hot coals with a healthy dose of pitch or boiling oil. And her trembling muscles threatened to give out. She kicked and kicked toward the black depths which still felt like down. At last she could take it no more and her lungs forced her breath in. She waited for unconsciousness to come, to put an end to her suffering. But it didn’t. Sweet, cool air entered her lungs. Icy fluid flowed over the molten rock of her chest, cooling the pain and freeing her from the clutches of death. Then a wave crashed over her head and pulled her back beneath the surface. A moment later, she was pulled above the surface again. The rapidly flowing river pushed against her, dragging all three of them down river. Okara led the charge, kicking her way toward the opposite bank where the steps of the vine rope net climbed out of the water. Taliesimon and Jonah kicked their way after Okara, all three clenching hands to stay together. The rapids pushed, pulled, and tossed them about repeatedly. For every span they moved forward, they were pushed or pulled three more in another direction. The going was slow and frustrating, the exhaustion in Taliesimon’s muscles threatening to overwhelm her. Jonah seemed every bit as spent as she was, but Okara kept kicking and didn’t seem to slow at all. How can she still have this much strength? Taliesimon wondered. She couldn’t understand how such a small girl could have so much strength and stamina. If we get through this and I end up having to face her in the combats, I don’t think I’ll stand a chance. If she has this much strength and endurance, I’d bet she has tremendous skill. After what seemed an eternity of burning muscles and exhausted, rapid breath, Okara reached out and grabbed the rope net and pulled Taliesimon to it. With a hand securely on the vine rope, Taliesimon pulled Jonah to the net as well. She climbed up the rungs to be mostly out of the water and she entangled her arms in the net and let her body hang from it, limp. Closing her eyes, she focused on taking slow, deep breaths and waited for the burning in her limbs to ease. The net pulled next to her, torquing her shoulder. Ordinarily, she may have complained about the pain of it, but after what she’d already been through, the discomfort of a torqued shoulder barely registered in her mind. Jonah’s heavy breathing next to her ear brought her back from the brink of unconsciousness and she popped her eyes open. The river foamed at her feet, eternally churning as water clashed from several directions at once. But something wasn’t right. The foam of the rapids was supposed to be flat white. Even with the light of Kaustere at noon, which it wasn’t, the foam should not have been so red. It was almost–

Oh, torthugra guts! she thought. At the exact moment she remembered what had happened to Jonah’s legs, she noticed the twin streams of blood dripping down into the water from above his boots.

“Dammit, dammit, dammit,” She growled as she disentangled her arms from the net and climbed down to get a better look at the wounds in the boy’s legs. The knees of his breeches had been completely burned away, making it much easier than she would have liked to see the wounds. She couldn’t be certain what it was she was looking at. It was hard to see around the blood gushing from the wounds, but from just above his kneecap to just below it, there didn’t seem to be any skin. Several ropes of red meat crossed and weaved around one another with a few clumps of something yellowish. She grimaced. What was that? She was forced to admit she didn’t know nearly enough of healing or anatomy to be able to answer the question. She pushed the thought to the back of her mind. She had much more important things to worry about just now. Patting the pockets on the front of her breeches, Taliesimon smiled. “Today just happens to be your lucky day, Jonah.”

“Don’t feel very lucky.”

“What are you doing?” Okara asked as she sidled over across the net.

“We need to patch these up,” Taliesimon said as she pulled a small chip of stone from her pocket. It was far too small to be used as a weapon, she knew, but in this instance the rock’s small cutting edge would be invaluable. Pulling Jonah’s breeches away from his legs, she used the rock chip to s***h through the thick doeskin, keeping it as long as she could and cutting above the wounds on his knees. After a few minutes of work shredding both legs of his breeches, Taliesimon came away with eight long strips of soft leather she could use to bandage the huge wounds on his legs. She wadded two of them and dipped them into the river, then used them to clean the dirt and other, less identifiable, filth from his wounds. That done, she wetted the strips one at a time and wrapped three of the makeshift bandages around each of his knees, being careful to tie them as tightly as she could. If there wasn’t enough constant pressure on the wounds then the bandages wouldn’t stop the bleeding and wrapping them would be nearly pointless.

“How does it feel?” She asked, then added silently, i***t! How do you think it feels! Don’t be stupid.

“It still hurts,” he said, testing a slight bend of one knee. “But it’s better. Thank you, Taliesimon.”

“Where did you learn to do that?” Okara asked with a small smile of approval.

“Growing up on a farm, you learn how to take care of things on your own. We don’t have the luxury of running to a healer or Trevan when things happen. No matter how bad it is, we have to just figure it out.”

Okara’s expression tightened, but she gave a silent nod. Taliesimon turned to Jonah. “Can you move? We need to get to the top.”

Gritting his teeth, the boy nodded. “I can do it.”

Taliesimon and Okara climbed the net to either side of Jonah to help with his first few steps. Below, a couple of older boys broke the surface of the river looking haggard and started slowly climbing the net.

“Move,” Okara said, her voice tight. Jonah nodded and the girls each grasped him under one arm and helped him move upward. He grimaced and clenched his teeth as he raised his legs up to the next rung. With his second step, he clenched his jaw harder and a vein popped up on his forehead. Sweat broke out on his face with the third step and his lips compressed in a thin, bloodless line. Taliesimon pulled him up with her as she climbed. How is he going to make it? she wondered. He already looks like he’s going to pass out. But she kept silent and hauled him up the next rung. What could she do, after all? She wasn’t willing to leave him, no matter how much he slowed them. He had helped her, he had cared about her. He had sacrificed and gone out of his way to keep her in this thing, and keep the three of them together. She wouldn’t forget about that. Now it was her turn to be the strong one and keep the three of them together. Okara, though. Would she want to leave him? Taliesimon couldn’t be sure. The younger girl was an enigma to her. Although Okara had seemed naïve at first, she had made it clear she was willing to do whatever it took to succeed, including hurting or abandoning anyone who got in the way of what she wanted. But what is her story? Taliesimon wondered. What happened to the girl? What horrors or agonies in her past forced her to become so hard and heartless? And why was she here in the first place? Taliesimon understood her own motivations. She had idolized the dragoons for as long as she could remember. From the first time she had ever laid eyes on one of them, she’d known that was the life she wanted. Of course, everyone had told her at every step that girls couldn’t be dragoons, but she refused to listen. There was not a rule against women dragoons, so she was going to do it. That was all there was to it. Taliesimon glanced over her shoulder, down toward the water below and found, unsurprisingly, the boys were gaining on them. They weren’t moving fast, but they were steadily advancing. Over Jonah’s head, Taliesimon clicked her tongue and Okara glanced over. Taliesimon flicked her eyes down and Okara nodded, her fist tightening around the rung of the vine.

“Faster,” Taliesimon said through a gasp. She and Okara moved up a rung and hauled Jonah up. He did his best to keep up and she saw the toll it was taking on his body. The pain lines around his eyes and mouth grew deeper with each upward step. He didn’t bend his knees more than a fraction of a degree at any given step, which she suspected was due to the pain being too great for him to bear, in addition to the leather strips around his knees making the bending difficult. Most of the work he did with his arms, pulling himself up rung after rung. The higher they climbed, the paler his flesh grew, the brighter the shine in his eyes, and the more the sweat on his face held in thick, beaded drops. With each upward step, the trembling in the boy’s arms grew more pronounced. Taliesimon glanced down. Dammit! she thought. Reaching a shaky hand up to the next rung, she pulled herself up, then helped Okara to haul Jonah up another rung. Below, the boys had closed much of the gap between them. Taliesimon clenched her teeth, grinding them together.

“Okara,” she grunted, and glanced downward when the smaller girl looked at her. Okara looked down and her lips compressed in a bloodless line.

“What is it?” Jonah asked in a flat monotone. Okara licked her lips and they pulled him up another rung. “We’re about to have company.”

For the first time, Jonah looked down and his eyes went wide. It seemed his gaze was going past the boys and focusing on the distance down to the surface of the river, however. His gaze brought Taliesimon’s attention to the distance as well. The river looked so small from up here, as though it were nothing more than a tiny irrigation ditch. The world below started to spin beneath her and she slammed her eyes closed, turning her head back to face the net, she reopened her eyes and climbed up another rung. Jonah grunted with his next upward step. “Maybe. They’re too. Tired. To have. A confrontation. Up here.”

Okara scoffed. “Yes. And perhaps Trevandor will come down and set us up as dragoon commanders.”

Taliesimon gave a light, mirthless chuckle. “Move.”

All three of them moved up as fast as they could. The boys beneath still gained on them. The first of them was less than a span beneath Jonah’s foot now. He looked exhausted, with pasty white flesh, and sweat dripping down his face. The dark circles under his eyes were almost as dark as bruises, and his hands trembled with each rung he climbed. Once, he looked up to meet her eyes with a haunted look. Jonah might actually be right, she thought. The other boys didn’t look any better than the first, if anything their shaking was worse. Taliesimon looked up and almost shrieked with joy. They were so close to the top now! Less than a dozen spans above her was the top of the net. It ended at a solid, diamondwood platform which seemed to be above the treetops.

“Almost there,” she growled through clenched teeth as she dragged herself up another rung. Somehow, they managed to stay ahead of the boys beneath them. With each upward step, she felt the swaying of the net as the boys tried to race up the net. Each time she felt sure the confrontation was happening, Jonah’s foot moved up an instant before the lead boy’s hand touched the rung. Still, she wondered if they were trying to grab Jonah to throw him down, get passed to overtake them, or if the boys were oblivious and just trying to get up the net. The boy hadn’t met her eyes again, so she had difficulty in trying to determine what their goal was. The fact that they weren’t looking up at all certainly suggested they were oblivious to the presence of anyone else, but she didn’t think she could trust that. Finally, she got a hand up onto the platform above, but an instant later Jonah called out, “Ahhhh!”

Her gaze shot down to Jonah’s feet, where a boy had a hold of Jonah’s ankle through his thick boot. Then a hand clasped around the heel of her own boot. She shrieked in fury and yanked her foot out of his grasp and slammed it down, trapping the hand between her leather sole and the vine rope. The boy called out in pain at the same moment another boy made a similar sound. Taliesimon made a half-spin, grinding her foot on the boy’s hand. She glared down at the boy who had a hold on Jonah’s foot. The boy glared back at her. She growled through gritted teeth. “I’ll give you to the count of three to release him before your friends take a very long dive. If they’re lucky, they just might go for a swim rather than splattering on the forest floor.”

The boy scoffed. “As if I would care.”

Taliesimon grimaced. “And it doesn’t occur to you that without them it’s three against one, and we have the high ground?”

“Two,” he spat. Okara cackled like a maniac and the boy clenched his teeth.

“Even if you succeed, it will only be to fall yourself. You have no chance against the two of us.”

The boy stopped her with a short, barking laugh.

“How does it help you if you only fall yourself?” she added with deadly calm.

“I’m not worried.”

Okara shifted and the boy whose fingers were under her sandal cried out anew. “You should be!”

Taliesimon added a touch of compassionate gentleness to her voice. “You wouldn’t be the first to pay for the mistake of underestimating us.”

The hard look in the boy’s eyes did not diminish. He stared at her a moment, shifted to Okara, then back to Taliesimon. She clenched her jaw, grinding her teeth. The boy spoke slowly. “Say, for the sake of argument, that I believe you. What is your alternative? You obviously have something in mind.”

“Clever,” Okara muttered. “For a boy, at least.”

Jonah narrowed his eyes at her. Taliesimon considered a moment, mostly to give him the impression she was doing so. When she spoke, her voice was ice. “I will not allow you to finish ahead of us. I’m getting Jonah through this. I don’t think there’s any way they’ll let him continue.” She turned to her friend. “I’m sorry Jonah, you must know it is true. With the damage to your legs, you could never stand against a healthy opponent in The Combats. They will commend you for finishing, perhaps even invite you to come back next year. But they cannot allow you to compete further.”

Jonah nodded. His expression was glum, but his eyes told her he already knew the truth of it.

“However,” Taliesimon said pointedly, returning her gaze to the boy. “I would not be opposed to all six of us crossing the finish at the same time. I can’t see how they could qualify some of us and not others, unless they have cause to disqualify someone on account of infractions of some sort.”

“How can I trust you?” the boy asked angrily, but the tone was bluster. She could tell that his belligerence was diminishing. Taliesimon gave a small smile. “Simple. If I wanted to betray you, we would simply toss you all from the net now.”

The boy nodded glumly. “Fair point.”

“Understand,” Taliesimon said, a hint of steel to her voice. “I offer this out of compassion and generosity, but don’t mistake that for weakness. If you try to betray me and jump ahead of Jonah at the finish,” she paused dramatically. “I. Will. Kill. You.”

The boy stared at her. His eyes still hard, but with a flicker of uncertainty now. He nodded.

“I need an oath. From all three of you.”

The boys complied, offering oaths to be struck down by Trevandor himself if they betrayed her. She nodded, satisfied, and lifted her foot from the boy’s hand. She hauled Jonah up another rung, then climbed up onto the platform. She waited for Okara to join her, then the pair took Jonah’s hands and hauled him the rest of the way up. The two girls then helped the three boys up and turned to face the platform.

“Now what?”

The platform was empty. She had half-expected this to be the end, to find a congratulatory welcome waiting there. She had realized some time ago that the information that was made public about what the Gauntlet entailed was kept intentionally sparse. They kept most of the details hidden. So much for her vaunted planning. Taliesimon and Okara led the way across the platform, Jonah limping between them. Nothing changed. It was, indeed, empty. It was an empty shelf of oak boards with nothing at the opposite edge. The other boys reported the peripheral edges of the platform were similarly empty. Taliesimon leaned out over the edge, but there was nothing. No ropes. No net. No way down at all. It was a sheer drop into the trees. Jonah stared, wide-eyed. “What in the Nine Hells?”

Okara shrugged. “No idea.”

Taliesimon huffed a frustrated sigh. “I’m not sure what we’re supposed to do here. Any ideas?”

The oldest boy, the skinny one who’d had Jonah’s foot, stomped his foot. “Swing off the edge and climb down the other side of the net?”

“I find that unlikely,” Okara said.

“Oh?”

Taliesimon swallowed a lump in her throat. “It isn’t a bad idea, but I think Okara is probably right. So far, the simple answer has never been the best one. I’m still convinced we were missing something with the coals.”

“There was a cool path through,” the slender boy said simply. Taliesimon and Okara turned on him as one. “What?” they said in concert. He nodded, and his companions did likewise. “The instructions were carved into a series of trees along the path.”

Okara clenched her fists. “Dammit!”

“It’s a leap of faith,” said the youngest boy in wonder. He might have been even younger than Okara, but while certainly the shortest of the group, he was thickly built. Taliesimon turned to him. “What do you mean?”

“Well, do you remember the old story about the first dragoons?”

“I’m afraid my dragoon history is… underdeveloped.”

“Okay,” the boy said, narrowing his eyes as though annoyed. “The concise version is the ancient heroes, Moritz, Katharc, and Zenova, were forced to scale the Spine of the World at the peak of Allylura, and to prove their faith in Trevandor they had to leap off the other side with nothing but clouds and jagged rocks to catch them. The net and the platform, and nothing to catch us beneath it, seems like a metaphor for that story.”

“You don’t think that’s a bit of a stretch?” the oldest boy asked.

“What happened when they jumped?” Jonah asked, and Taliesimon smiled.

“No, Jhaarga, I don’t think it’s a stretch. See, here’s where it becomes relevant. It is said that when they leaped, the god himself stretched out his hand to deliver them to safety. As a reward for their unquestioning faith in him.”

Okara scoffed. “Don’t tell me you seriously think Trevandor himself is going to deliver every recruit who makes it to the end of a Gauntlet in every city that hosts it.”

“No, I do not.”

Taliesimon tapped her foot. “Well? What are you saying, then?”

He gave an exaggerated sigh. “That too is a metaphor. In many ways, this whole thing has been one giant metaphor for the trials of the three heroes. Gods, don’t they teach you people anything?”

Okara growled. “I know the stories. I see the correlations. I just don’t agree with you about this platform being a metaphor for the Leap of Faith.”

The boy shook his head. “Look, they’ve gone to great lengths to infuse metaphor into every aspect of the entire Gauntlet. My guess is there’s something down there, just below the foliage, to keep us from falling to our deaths.”

Okara gritted her teeth. “Perhaps Jhaarga is right and we’re supposed to climb down the other side of the vine net.”

“And end up back in the river? I can’t speak for anyone else, but I do not relish the thought. We barely survived it the first time, and it looked like the distance to the other bank is even farther than it was from the bank to the net.”

“Is there a way to know for sure that we’ll survive jumping?” Jonah asked.

“I doubt it. That would defeat the purpose of the Leap of Faith. There is evidence for my argument, however.”

Jhaarga stared down at the boy scornfully. “And what would that be?”

“On our way up, or from across the river, did any of you see anyone climbing down on the other side? Anyone? Is there any other way off this platform?”

Jhaarga pursed his lips and Okara clenched her jaw.

“That’s… fair,” Taliesimon said.

“Does anyone have a compelling reason not to take that at face value?”

Taliesimon glanced around at the others, each seemed to have found something interesting on the toes of their boots or sandals.

“Is anyone not willing to jump with me?” The boy asked. Okara and Jonah stared at Taliesimon, their looks hard and determined. Taliesimon nodded. If that young boy had the courage to go, then her companions would as well. And she was certainly not about to be outdone by Okara.

“We’re going,” Okara said unnecessarily. Jhaarga glanced around nervously and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know.”

The middle boy, who’d heretofore been silent, shrugged and nodded at once. “Honestly, I think I’d end up falling if I tried to climb down anyway, so I might as well do it on purpose. Better to die of stupid faith than weakness.”

“Who can argue with that?” Jonah said with a smile. Taliesimon held out her hands. Jonah took one and Okara the other. After a few moments, the other three each grabbed someone’s hand and all five of them nodded to her. She couldn’t help marveling. Somehow, they had all acknowledged her as the leader. She nodded back to them and stepped forward. She hesitated at the edge of the platform just long enough to close her eyes while she took a deep breath, then took a step and pushed herself off the edge of the platform. The dense foliage below seemed to spin around her and in her mind’s eye she saw the multitude of sharp branches below the greenery and beneath that, at the surface of the forest, lay a plethora of b****y and broken human bodies, some of them so old that all that remained was a filthy skeleton with numerous broken and shattered bones surrounded by worms, maggots, and all the other carrion of the forest. A fierce wind struck her face with the force of a hammer, then she passed through the dense foliage. Though she held her eyes tightly closed, she sensed there was nothing but empty space between herself and the forest floor hundreds of spans below. Her heart leaped to her throat. She crushed the hands in hers and shrieked in terror…CHAPTER FIFTEEN

DARGON LAY IN HIS cot with an icy cloth on his forehead. He hadn’t slept in what felt like days, but at least the pain was finally beginning to dull.

“I’m still waiting for that explanation about what this is, Trevan.”

The Trevan nodded, but kept silent. Dargon sighed in frustration. The older man touched Dargon’s cheek, feeling it with the back of his hand. “Fever seems to have broken. Finally.”

“Does that mean it’s safe for me to sleep now?” Dargon asked hopefully. The Trevan considered. “Not just yet. When the headache is gone, I think.”

“But what–”

“Not yet. I will explain, but after you’ve slept. Your body has been excessively taxed. I won’t risk stressing you further.”

“But–”

“I said no, Your Highness. When you’ve recovered.”

Dargon narrowed his eyes. “I’ll hold you to that.” His voice came out far more petulant than he was comfortable with. The Trevan gave a slow nod.

“Can you at least tell me why trying to sleep makes it worse?”

The priest pulled his stool closer to the cot and sat, his gaze burning into Dargon’s eyes. He was silent a moment, then said, “Okay, Dargon. Understand, the sickness you are suffering has been afflicting men for millennia. It is rare, but when it strikes there is no avoiding it. Its victims have no choice but to suffer through the symptoms until they have run their course. The affliction, for whatever reason, I’ve never heard a satisfactory answer, insists on the sufferer experiencing every moment of its torment. It is the affliction itself which intensifies if you try to sleep during its effects.”

“It… insists?” Dargon asked with wide eyes. The Trevan nodded. “I know of no better way to describe it. The affliction acts as though it has a will of its own. It will not allow you to sleep through its effects.”

“So, you are saying there is no physiological reason for the pain to intensify when trying to sleep, but it happens anyway.”

The older man shook his head. “I have no doubt there is a direct physical reason it happens. We simply do not have a way to identify exactly what that reason is.”

Dargon nodded. It sounded reasonable. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something— probably a lot of somethings —the Trevan wasn’t telling him, but then, the priest had promised to explain after the sickness had run its course. He contented himself with that.

“But,” Dargon said as the thought occurred to him. “The way you speak of it seems to imply that the affliction itself has will and desire of its own. That it wants its sufferers to… well, suffer. Is it intelligent?”

“After a fashion.”

Dargon furrowed his brow. “I don’t understand.”

“In truth, I don’t either. But I’ll do my best to explain after you’ve rested. Fair?”

Dargon nodded. It was troubling that even the Trevan didn’t understand what this affliction truly was. Or perhaps he is only saying that because he does not want to discuss it right now, he thought. That made him feel better about it.

“How are things in the city?” Dargon asked. The Trevan grimaced. “Oh, I don’t think that’s anything for you to be worrying about.”

“Please. I’ve been cooped up in here for days. I’m bored–”

“Days?” The Trevan asked with a slight chuckle. “No, Highness. It hasn’t even been a full day yet.”

Dargon’s spirits plummeted. How could that be? He felt as though he’d been suffering in bed for a fortnight, at the least.

“Do not be despondent, Highness. Time always slows to a crawl when one is in pain. It will pass.”

Dargon sighed. “Please. I’m bored. Tell me what has been happening. Anything exciting?”

The Trevan sighed heavily. “This city has been calm and uneventful, I’m afraid. There is interesting news from the testing grounds in Cuularan, however. That has been causing quite a stir.”

Dargon furrowed his brow in thought. “Cuularan? That’s a rather minor outpost, isn’t it? Aren’t the main testing grounds in Zenova?”

“That they are, Highness. Until a few decades ago, Zenova was the only testing ground.”

“Oh? What changed?”

The Trevan cleared his throat and spoke in his ‘lecturer’ voice. “In the days before the founding of the smaller, more distant cities, it made sense to have the whole of the Free-States test in a single location. But as the Free-States grew, that became less and less viable. Today, it could take a fortnight, if not two or three, to journey to the grounds in Zenova from some places. That is why the dragoons began allowing any city-state more than two days’ ride from Zenova to host their own testing. Paid for by the individual city-state and overseen by an approved dragoon officer, of course.”

Dargon nodded. “So what is this news from Cuularan?”

“Apparently, some girls entered the testing this year–”

“That’s not so strange, is it? There’s no rule against it, as far as I know.”

“No, Highness, there is not. Their participation is not, in and of itself, so odd. There is commonly at least one at the larger testing grounds. But Cuularan is small. I believe it has been some years since they have had a girl compete. But again, that is not the oddity. What makes it odd is the two seem to be working together to defeat the challenges and are actually doing rather well.”

“Cooperation is allowed, isn’t it?”

The Trevan smiled. “Oh, certainly. In fact, without it completing the course is said to be impossible. Much of the point of the Gauntlet is to teach the young recruits the value of the team. Most go into the course more than willing to trample every other contestant to further his own position. However, they have been working in concert from the start and are doing so well that some are speculating we may see our first female dragoons in centuries.”

“It’s that rare?” Dargon was amazed. The Trevan nodded. “So rare, in fact, that most don’t believe it has ever happened. It has been suggested that women are intentionally excluded, but no proof of that has ever been brought to bear.”

Dargon narrowed his eyes, sensing something underhanded happening. “I see. But why exclude them?”

The Trevan leaned back, his eyes thoughtful. “Many reasons, Highness. And none.”

Dargon’s brows shot up.

“We men are insecure creatures. Much of the dragoon command seems to believe that war is the province of men. There is a general perception of the physical weakness of women.”

“Apparently they never met mother,” Dargon muttered. The Trevan chuckled. “Very true, my lord. There are always those who challenge the common perceptions.”

“Is that truly what it is about?”

The Trevan grimaced. “I don’t believe so, Highness.”

“Then what is it about?”

“I believe it is about the dragoon leadership. None of them know how to deal with women. They don’t know the first thing about how to reach one. Or train her. Or even talk to her. So they take measures to ensure they don’t have to.”

Dargon clenched his jaw. “But… how can they…?”

“It is because there is no official ruling. Somehow, the girls who enter never do well enough to be considered. Thus it has been for generations. So you see, Dargon, why these two girls in Cuularan are making such a stir with their performance.”

“Against all odds,” Dargon whispered.

“Indeed.”

“I want to help them,” Dargon said. “If they earn it, I want them to get in.”

“Commendable, Highness. But how?”

Dargon thought for a long time before answering. Since he would certainly be accused of acting on a frivolous whim in this, the best thing he could do was go into it with a plan to ensure he did not fail. Nothing emphasized an act of whimsy more than failure.CHAPTER SIXTEEN

WITH NO WAY to determine how long it had been since last he’d slept, Rintalas was left with only guesses. Perhaps it had been a turn, or perhaps a fortnight. Between the sluggishness in his limbs and the way his mind kept wandering when he tried to concentrate, it felt more like the latter. With no light, no clock, no regular daily activity, and no sleep, however, he was unwilling to offer a more specific guess. Over time, the almost constant clicking around him had transformed into a low chittering. The longer he listened to it, the more it sounded like language of some kind. What sort of creature could make such a sound? He did not wish to find out, but with each step he felt more and more certain he was going to. He prayed that when it happened he would still be awake and alert enough to handle whatever it was. During a lull when the chittering was absent, he carefully stepped across the loose stones scattered across the path of the tunnel. The soft scratching of the tiny stone on the flat ground made him cringe. How likely was it that whatever the creatures out there were, they had acute enough hearing to have heard the scraping stone? Breathing a silent sigh, he continued on his way with greater care. Bad enough that whatever was out there was almost certainly going to find him. The last thing he needed was to attract their attention any more than his mere presence so obviously did. His muscles ached. From the soles of his feet to his calves, into his thighs, taut back and shoulders, everything ached. He must have been walking for a very long time. He couldn’t remember ever having been so tired before. Was it an effect of the constant darkness, or had he truly been walking for such a long time? Between the aches and pains and the— admittedly inaccurate —sense of his internal clock, he couldn’t help feeling as though he had been going for days. How much farther could it be to the end of the tunnel? The trip over the top of the mountain took months, so they said. Not only did one have to scale the nearly-sheer cliffs to far beyond the height of the clouds to reach the summit of the Spine, but then one would have to navigate the labyrinthine spires of jutting rock to get to the other side of the mountain. Only then could one traverse the treacherous falls down the Free-States side, all while trying to avoid the myriad tribes of ogres, trolls, goblins, and other, less savory creatures. It was no wonder the Minotaur people had stopped raiding the other side of the Spine of the World centuries ago. The trek under the mountain, however, was much quicker. Not much more than a fortnight, he had been told. All he need do was follow the map. The greatest danger beneath the mountain was getting lost, they had said. Well, Rintalas was having his doubts about the veracity of that claim. Whatever it was down here with him, it did not sound friendly. Sliding stones sounded behind him and he spun about. A small slide of loose rocks crumbled from the side of the tunnel wall to form a waist-high pile covering almost half of the path and… what was that? The image had vanished so quickly, Rintalas could not be certain if he had truly seen what he thought he saw. The bulbous mass of flesh came and went so fast, he wondered if he might have imagined it. Was his mind playing tricks on him? Was he deep enough into the throes of exhaustion to be seeing things that weren’t there? I need sleep, he thought, feeling groggier than ever. With a shake of his head to try to wake himself up a bit, he attempted to calculate how much longer he would be in the tunnel before reaching his destination. He had been going for… well, he still couldn’t be certain. His internal clock insisted he had been in this tunnel for months. His food supply, on the other hand, suggested it was closer to nineteen days. His hopes soared. If that was accurate, if he hadn’t been overeating during his time here in the darkness, then he was within a day or two of his destination. He prayed it was so. Grinning now, he turned back to the path forward and froze.

“By the Horns of Mephisto,” he whispered. Standing before him on the path toward his destination were no less than five purple, bulbous shapes. The sounds he had been hearing as echoes for what he felt certain now had been days sounded from each creature as a fleshy chittering. Each made the sounds in turn and there was some back and forth between two of them while he stared in shock at the creatures. What where they? Having only his night vision to go on, it was difficult for him to say exactly what type of creatures they might be. He put his hands up. “Whoa there,” he said, trying to force all the tension from his voice. “Whatever this is, there is no need for it to turn violent. I won’t hurt any of you.”

The center creature shrieked, the warbling sound higher in pitch than anything Rintalas had ever heard. Nervously, he looked around, wondering if this shriek was a call to bring others of its kind. He huffed a frustrated sigh. “Come on now, I’d be willing to bet you understand me. Just let me go. I haven’t done anything to hurt you. And I won’t. You just have to let me go.”

The creatures to the sides crowded closer to Rintalas. Their legs made strange creaking sounds with their movements, which evoked in Rintalas’s mind an image of thin, spindly legs covered in some sort of hard shell. Crab-like, perhaps? Regular clicks from numerous places almost at once suggested each leg ended in a sharp claw. A rather strong, sharp claw, he felt certain.

“Okay,” he said, taking a step back. “So what happens now? I have important work to do, so whatever it is, let’s be quick about it.”

All five creatures issued undulating chitters. It sounded almost like laughter. This does not bode well, Rintalas thought. Before he could make up his mind what to do, the creatures leaped toward him as one. In a flash, his twin swords were in his hands. He used one to block a creature’s teeth from locking around his thigh while he stabbed another through the center of its bulbous body to a wailing shriek more terrible than anything he had ever heard. Trying to ignore the agony in that wail, Rintalas leaped over the remaining creatures and bolted passed them. One creature leaped toward him and an invisible leg-claw slashed through his breeches to open the flesh of his lower leg. With a grunt, he did his best to ignore the burning pain in his leg and ran as fast as he could away from the creatures. The click of claws against stone told him they pursued him, he only hoped he could either outrun them or get to the end of the tunnel before they caught him. Sweat streamed across his forehead and down his back as he ran, the wind cooling the heat in his face a bit. He tried not to think about what might happen if he was not fast enough to outrun them and failed to find the exit to the tunnel. The claws clicked the stone behind him faster than anything he had ever heard in his life, suggesting many more of the creatures than he had seen, and they seemed to be getting closer. With a tremendous effort of will, he forced the fear from his mind and pulled in deep breaths. As deep and even as he could while running for his life. A tiny glint of light ahead gave him hope. There was no guarantee the light came from the exit he needed, it could be any one of a thousand exits from the tunnel, but he prayed it was the exit he needed. The gray stone flashed by his sides in a blur, the shapes ahead seeming almost to move. A rocky protrusion ahead looked like a talon reaching out to s***h at him and he bolted to one side to get around it. As he passed the huge gray shape, he found it was not moving after all. It was only a strange shape in the stone, not a massive creature reaching out to stop him. He resisted the urge to shake his head at his own foolishness. He had real dangers to concern himself with, and couldn’t afford to waste energy going around imagined ones. Ignoring the burning sensations in his leg and lungs, Rintalas ran on, pushing himself as fast as he could. Despite his best efforts, his breath was coming in short gasps and the burning aches in his muscles was only getting worse. And still, the light ahead didn’t seem to be getting any closer. He sucked in another deep breath and forced his mind to focus once more on that activity. He couldn’t afford to hyperventilate right now, with those things so close behind him. Daring a backward glance, he found eight of the small purple creatures following him. “Dammit,” he gasped, then put all his energy and attention back into running and breathing. He had no doubt in his ability to destroy the creatures, even with there now being eight of them. It would be a harrowing fight, to be sure, but he was confident in his skills with the dual blades. No, what concerned him was his exhaustion and the strong likelihood that there were more, quite likely many more, of the creatures out there. Already, five had become eight. And there were probably a dozen more that he couldn’t see. How many more might be coming? Between the two-part bodies he had glimpsed, the long, spindly, single-clawed legs he believed to be present, and their chittery vocalizations, he was fairly certain these were arachnids of some sort. Probably spiders, he thought. Though exactly what variety, he could only guess. There were too many species of giant spider in the world to guess with only their approximate size and inferred characteristics to go on. What was important, though, was considering the sheer number of them, these were almost certainly young, as spiders were usually solitary creatures. Some spider species lived and hunted in a family unit, but there would never be more than two adults in a single hunting ground and especially not working in concert. How young these might be, however, he couldn’t say. How many more could there be, though? Dozens? Hundreds? And more importantly, too many agonized wails from them might bring an adult. An adult that he had no way of guessing the size of. These things’ parents could be so large they barely fit in the tunnel for all he knew. He had never heard, from anyone who had traversed this tunnel, of any giant spiders living down here, but clearly they did. And the last thing he needed just now was to encounter a giant spider so large he couldn’t get past it to continue on down the tunnel. Therefore, rather than stand and fight, he continued his mad flight toward the sliver of light in the distance.CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

DARGON LEANED BACK against the pillows propping him up, deep in thought.

“Also,” the Trevan said, continuing the thread of the original conversation as though they hadn’t left it. “While this isn’t news, per se, it has been brought up again recently. We still have heard no word from any of the recent expeditions sent across the strait to Thorutia. It is as if they have all disappeared without a trace.”

“How long since the last one came back. Or at least sent us word?”

The Trevan closed his eyes to think. The torch behind him seemed to flare, the light blazing brighter for a moment. The light dimmed again and the Trevan opened his eyes. “The last confirmed missive from an expedition was… decades ago, according to our records. None now live who remember when it came and no one is certain we can trust the date listed on the missive itself.”

“Decades?” Dargon asked, incredulous.

“That is the supposition, Highness.”

“What was the date listed on the report?”

The Trevan grimaced. “It was dated the eighteenth day of Highmark, in the year twelve-twenty-four.”

Dargon’s jaw slipped open. “Twelve-twenty-four?” he whispered in awe. “But that was almost three-hundred years ago.”

“Hence the reason we doubt its accuracy, Highness.”

Dargon nodded. “What did the report say?” Silently, he added, what if the report is right? What if it has been over two-hundred years since the last time we made contact with the isle? What would that even mean?

“That the expedition was ambushed in a pincer attack between torthugra and teranthric.”

“And no further report came?”

“None.”

“And we send a new expedition every year?”

“Once, we did, my lord. But no longer. Since the current Dragoon Highlord came to power, it is but once every three years.”

Dargon furrowed his brow. “Why?”

The Trevan shrugged. “The Highlord changed it on account of not wanting to continue wasting lives every year to no discernible purpose.”

Dargon shook his head. “No, Trevan, I meant why do we continue to send them at all?”

“We must,” the bearded man said simply.

“But why!” Dargon almost shouted in exasperation.

“Please, Highness, do not get worked up. It will make the headaches worse.”

Dargon nodded, noting the increase to the pressure at his temples.

“But to answer your question, we cannot afford to miss any information which might be gleaned from a voyage across the strait.”

Dargon shook his head in wonder. “Surely you see the inherent paradox here. We can’t learn anything from a voyage that doesn’t report back.”

The Trevan nodded. “I know, Highness. Alas, it is not within my control. Your father would be the better person to speak to in this instance, for all that even he does not command the dragoons. In their autonomy, only the Dragoon Highlord can make that decision.”

Dargon sighed. “So you cannot tell me why we continue to send dragoons to their deaths every year.”

“You know as much as I do, Highness.”

And there it was. For whatever reason, dragoons were sent across the strait to die every year and no one even questioned it. Why didn’t they? Were they truly so blind that they didn’t see what was happening?

“We need to find a way to learn what is happening over there, Trevan.”

“On that, we agree, Highness. But how? Without sorcery, our only source of information is men on ships. And they never report back. I expect they die before they get the chance.”

“Trevan,” Dargon said cautiously. “Why was sorcery outlawed?”

The priest took a deep breath and blew it out forcefully. His intense gray eyes seemed to delve into Dargon’s soul as he sat forward. After a moment, he leaned back again and narrowed his eyes. “Now, why would you ask a thing like that?”

Dargon shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “You mentioned it. I’ve never heard an explanation of why. At least, not one that made sense and wasn’t just a lungful of bluster from bigots or idiots. I guess I was just thinking that if there was something that could be done about it…”

“I see. Well, don’t waste energy thinking on it. You would have to have deep influence in every city of the Free-States, not to mention a damned good argument to even have a chance of being listened to. And even then, I think the prejudice is so ingrained into most of the people that you could never get rid of it.”

“But how did it begin?” Dargon sat forward in his excitement, and his head exploded in agony, his vision dimming. He immediately sat back, resting his head against the piled pillows. Hands at his temples, he rubbed gently as he took a deep breath.

“I think that’s enough excitement for today,” the Trevan said. His robes rustled briefly and his booted footsteps moved toward the door.

“Wait,” Dargon whispered. “Cold cloth, please.” Even the soft whisper hurt his head. It was as though his head were inside a war drum, the vibrations deafening. A moment later, an icy cloth was laid against his forehead and the pain diminished almost instantly. “Thank you,” he whispered. A gentle pressure touched his shoulder for a moment, then the Trevan’s steps moved toward the door and stepped out of the room, closing the door softly behind him. Dargon struggled to think through the sluggishness in his mind. The illness was bad enough on its own, but with this pain in his head, clear thought was almost impossible. He had to find a way to stop the senseless expeditions across the strait while at the same time he had to find an answer to what was happening to them. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something potentially disastrous was coming from Thorutia. Why else would there be no report from any of them for so many years? But there was one inescapable problem. He only had thirteen years. Not only would no one take his ideas seriously, Father included, but until he succeeded his father to the throne, he had no power to see his will done. What could he do? He pushed the thoughts away. He would do something about the expeditions, when he could. But for now, being small in power himself, he needed to focus on small problems. The thought turned his mind back to his earlier line of thinking. There is something I can do right now, he thought, a smile touching his lips. The girls in Cuularan need help. Help I can provide. If I can get there in time, I can ensure they are treated fairly by the judges of the Gauntlet and the Combats. His smile broadened to a grin and he summoned a servant to prepare his travel plans.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

THE WIND TORE at Taliesimon’s face as she plummeted toward the dense foliage below. Vines slapped at her legs and bare arms while leaves whipped her bare skin and twigs slashed at her, cutting into the exposed flesh of her arms and chest. She passed the outer foliage and kept falling. There was no net, no soft landing, no surprise catch. Nothing but empty air between her and the forest floor below. The earth, stones, and shrubbery there rushed toward her, looking harder and sharper than she would have thought possible. We were wrong, she thought with a curious detachment. She couldn’t place how or why, but it seemed to her that she had thought or said these words before. The feeling of surrealism became almost overwhelming. Faster, the ground rushed to meet her. Branches, vines, and dust bit into her flesh with surprising force. Oddly, she recognized the damage to her flesh, but there didn’t seem to be any physical pain. She watched the ground rise up to meet her with calm acceptance. I’m going to die, she thought, and closed her eyes to meet her end. Abruptly, the falling sensation stopped and she registered the touch of something smooth and soft against her skin. Skin that burned. Every inch of it burned with something resembling heat, yet not. As though she lay in a pool of liquid fire, yet she also felt cool, as though the soft sheets around her had been drenched in a cold mountain stream. She tried to open her eyes, but her lids did not respond. Light appeared on the other side of her closed lids, bringing pink-tinged light to her eyes, which blotted out the darkness. Where am I? She wondered. Am I dead? She noted that the smaller hands of Okara and Jonah were no longer within hers. She tried again to open her eyes. She put all the force she could muster into pushing her lids open. The effort proved far more exhausting that she had expected, but it worked. Her eyes cracked the tiniest sliver and she glimpsed the world around her. Dark, seamless stone walls surrounded her, and the ceiling above appeared to be dark mahogany. A desk stood across the room, against the wall next to an open door and held numerous jars and bowls, which seemed, based on the scents coming to her nose, to contain various herbal remedies. To either side of her bed, at the other two walls, stood two more beds, each containing a small form. A tall figure robed and hooded in midnight blue stood in the doorway, watching her in silence. Beneath the deep cowl, she glimpsed dark skin with a short coat of glossy hair covering a face that was all sharp angles. His thick lips curled up in a tight smile. His eyes met hers and his smile widened. “You are awake, I see.” His voice held not a hint of surprise, as though he knew she had been awake for some time and was only waiting for her to openly present herself as such. She tried to nod, but there was no movement. She settled for blinking. He stepped toward her. “You three put on quite a show.