Jon Sprunk - Shadow's master

Before she could speak, Josey heard a sound from the trees, like something moving through the brush. A deer perhaps. Brian looked past her, and then lifted his sword. Josey spun around as a dozen men in rustic garb emerged from the woods. They came from every direction, aiming spears and swords and arrows. Brian tried to intervene his body between her and the ambushers, but there were too many of them. Steel rang out as he batted aside a sword pointed in her direction.

“Majesty,” Brian whispered. “Run when I attack.”

“No!” she hissed at him. There were too many for him. “Don't be crazy.”

“Just run and don't look back.”

Josey grabbed Brian's shoulder with both hands, trying to stop him from launching a suicidal act in her honor. They got entangled, and somehow Brian ended up with one arm around her waist and the other holding his sword up out of her reach.

“Throw down your blade!”

One of the ambushers had stepped out front. He was young, maybe a year or two older than her. Like the others, he wore simple clothing, a shaggy cloak over a buckskin shirt and breeches. He had a short sword with a wide, curved blade, which he held down by his side.

“Do it,” Josey said, and extricated herself from her protector. She was tired. Tired of running, tired of fighting, tired of always being afraid. Though it stung to admit defeat, she wasn't willing to throw away her life, or Brian's, on a final act of bravado. “Put down your weapon, sir.”

Brian frowned at her, but dropped his sword. However, when one of their assailants bent down to take the weapon, Brian slammed his knee upward, catching the man flush in the face and catapulting him back. Like a crack in a dam, the rest of the ambushers rushed in, and Brian vanished under a mob of punching fists and jabbing spear-butts. Josey cried for them to stop and pounded her fists on their backs, but the men ignored her. Too late she remembered Brian's dagger sheathed at her waist. When she reached for the handle, a firm hand closed around her wrist.

“That wouldn't be wise, milady.”

It was the youth who had called for them to disarm in the first place. He watched while his men pinioned Brian to the ground and bound him, but he didn't take the dagger from her. Because I'm no threat, right? Just keep thinking that, little boy.

Josey studied him, looking for a badge or device, but he wore nothing to show his allegiance.

“Who are you?” he asked.

Josey considered lying to pass herself off as some lesser noble's daughter. Brian's sister, perhaps. With luck, they might both be ransomed. But remembering those who had so recently fallen, she couldn't dishonor them with a deception. “I am Josephine, Empress of Nimea. And I would have the name of my captor.”

Quick glances passed between the ambushers. The young swordsman looked from her to Brian and back. “Tell us your true name.”

Josey lifted her chin and straightened up to her full height. “Josephine Frenig Corrinada, the first of my name, Empress of Nimea, Protector of Othir, Lady of Highavon. Now I ask you again, sir, for your name.”

The youth squinted. A faint crop of whiskers covered his chin. Dirt encrusted his neck and matted his long hair. His clothes looked like they had been slept in for days, if not weeks. His entire company, truth be told, was ragged, for all their bluster. He cleared his throat.

“I am Lord Keegan, high captain of the Free Clans of Eregoth.”

Josey rode with her head down in the dark, hands clasping the saddle horn. A grizzled woodsman with a bristly red beard held the reins of her steed. Brian strode beside her with his hands tied before him and a loop of rope around his neck. They had been traveling for two to three candlemarks, she guessed, deeper and deeper into a wood that proved more extensive than she first imagined. With every passing mile Josey became more and more confused. They should have met up with other enemy units by now, or even the main body. She found it hard to believe that the invaders could have outpaced them so swiftly, not with so many men on foot with all the wagons and such they would require to sustain their march. But if they weren't going to meet the warlord, then where?

The young leader, Keegan, walked somewhere at the head of the company. Lord Keegan, he had called himself, but Josey seriously doubted his claim to nobility. She considered calling for him so she could demand some answers, but before she could muster the will, lights appeared between the trees ahead. She smelled woodsmoke and cooking as the forest path opened into a wide clearing where a camp was laid out on the grass. She counted six fire pits and a dozen or so canopies lashed to tree trunks to make crude tents.

As the woodsmen filed into the campsite, Keegan approached her. Josey opened her mouth, but hesitated as he drew a long knife from his belt and stopped in front of Brian.

“I'm told southern knights value their honor above their lives,” the youth said. With a quick slash, he cut the rope binding Brian's hands. “If you try to escape, we'll put that notion to the test.”

While Brian massaged his wrists, Keegan turned to Josey. “Milady, we don't have much to offer, but there's hot food if you will please join me.”

With a look to Brian-who thankfully held his tongue-Josey dismounted. A familiar voice rang out through the trees.

“Majesty!”

Josey was almost bowled over as Iola ran up and embraced her in a fierce hug. Tears burst in the corners of Josey's eyes as the emotions she'd been holding in broke free. They hugged each other and sobbed for several minutes before Iola peeled herself away. Rubbing her wet cheeks with both hands, the girl made a formal curtsy. “Majesty, we didn't think…I mean, we feared the…Oh! We're so happy to see you, Majesty!”

“We?”

Josey looked past Iola to see a group of people sitting on the ground. Her tears threatened to flow again when Captain Drathan stood up stiffly and made a firm salute. Behind him were Lieutenant Butus, with a fresh bandage around his neck, and Sergeant Trenor and so many other faces she'd thought she would never see again. Forgetting about her captors, she went over to them. There were at least two score of her people here. Doctor Krav was working on a wounded soldier by the light of a lantern.

“How is this possible?” Josey asked. “How did you all survive?”

“We ran,” Iola said. “When runners returned to the camp with news that the battle was going badly, we packed up the wounded in carts and started away.”

“It was Iola, Majesty.” Captain Drathan looked odd without his weapons. His left arm was held in a sling, and he had a few other scrapes, but otherwise he appeared hale and whole. “She organized the retreat. Without her, many more would have perished.”

Iola blushed at his words, and Josey had to fight back a laugh born of relief. But her gaiety ended when she looked to the woodsmen roaming around the camp.

“They're not sure what to do with us,” a gruff voice said.

Josey turned and hugged its owner. “Master Hirsch! I thought I'd lost you, too!”

The adept disengaged himself as politely as possible, hissing softly as he peeled away from her. Through several rents in his shabby coat she saw white dressings, spotted with blood in a few places. “Oh, Hirsch! I'm sorry. Are you all right?”

“I'll live. At least a little longer.”

“Hirsch, what happened? Those explosions-”

“Aye, lass. Sorcery. A little surprise we weren't expecting.”

Josey's pulse thumped in her ears as she thought back to her experiences with Caim and his strange abilities. She lowered her voice. “Hardly just a little surprise, Master Hirsch. The invaders destroyed my army, killed hundreds of our soldiers, and eradicated the only thing standing between them and Nimea's heartlands. As catastrophes go, I'd say this was a major one.”