Rachel Lee - Shadows of Destiny

She closed her eyes, chilled to the bone from her time outside, although the winter’s fury seemed unable to penetrate these walls. The music, she thought. The music. Had it been meant to enchant her? To open a way to her deepest mind? Or had it been something other?

It had certainly been beautiful. As beautiful as the singing of Anahar. Hadn’t Archer once said that his brother had been fair and beautiful, and had used that beauty to bring about strife?

Her mind whirled in circles, unable to settle on any particular thing, almost as if she feared that if her thoughts slowed he might find his way in again. Where was Sara? And why could she not warm up, even when every part of her was burrowed into her cloak?

She thought of a fire, thought how nice it would be to be sitting before one right now. The flames seemed to dance before her eyes, and almost as if by magic, she felt the heat of them stinging her cold cheeks.

Her eyes popped open and she gasped. Before her, on the stone floor with no fuel to feed it, a fire burned, emitting heat. Did she need only to visualize something to have it occur? The thought terrified her.

But then she saw Sara sitting across from her on the other side of the fire. How long had she been distracted? How had Sara come without being heard?

Fearing that she was imagining everything, she opened her mouth to speak Sara’s name, when a chant began to emerge from the shadows around the fire. Tess’s head snapped up, and all of a sudden she saw the clan mothers, every one of them, in a circle around the fire and the two Ilduin. Their hands were joined as if to make an unbroken ring, and they intoned a prayer that sounded as if it were as old as time, chanting words Tess could not understand.

Sara smiled at her. “Cilla is on her way. She will be here soon. Archer said the Enemy is assaulting you.”

Tess nodded jerkily. She felt stiff, as if she had been sitting here for hours, not just minutes. But given what she saw around her, she must have dozed off…or gone somewhere else for a time. Some place she could not now remember. Too much time had elapsed.

She drew a frightened breath. Was she still losing her memory? Was she about to forget these past months as she had forgotten her earlier life? The terror that pierced her then had no equal.

How could she go forward if she could not trust her mind not to forget?

All of sudden, Sara slipped into her mind. He is attacking you now, sister. He seeks to make you doubt yourself.

He was certainly succeeding, Tess thought.

If you doubt yourself, he will find you easier prey. Seek your strength.

What strength? She felt cold, frightened and very much alone, as alone and frightened as when she had wakened among the gore of the slaughtered caravan.

Still she felt no touch in her mind. That was a good thing, because if there was anything she was certain of, it was that the Enemy wouldn’t be able to reside within her mind without being detected. His presence was too alien to be missed, as recognizable as a fingerprint.

A fingerprint? Where had that come from?

For an instant she feared she might simply dissolve into hopeless tears, unable to cope any longer with the weight of things forgotten and the weight of things to come.

But then her spine stiffened, and she drove away the despairing thoughts. Those, she thought angrily, would only serve him.

A whisper passed through the room, and the circle of clan mothers parted, allowing Cilla to enter. She looked cold and windblown, but in her hands she carried a tray of food.

“I am sorry that I was delayed, sister, but tradition dictated that Ratha and I feast in Giri’s honor,” she said, placing the tray between Sara and Tess. Then she squeezed Tess’s shoulder. “I ate quickly and brought the rest for you. Eat and rest, sister. You are guarded now.”

Tess looked around at the ring of aged faces, at her two Ilduin sisters, and finally understood.

She was not alone.

Archer joined Jenah and Tuzza in the large tent that served as a temporary headquarters for both armies. As it was set on neutral ground between the two camps, no one could see a purpose in raising a building here yet, because they were planning to march very soon. The work on a camp and buildings for the Bozandari had been born of an effort to establish a sense of purpose and permanence for the erstwhile captives, and to help build relationships between them and the Anari.

So far there had been few problems. It had helped greatly when the Anari army had sprouted banners sporting the white wolf as well. Just as helpful had been the amazing gifts of the Anari stoneworkers who assisted their former foes in building the camp.

But now the real dangers approached, ones that might not be so easily solved. Would Tuzza’s men be able to stand against another Bozandari legion if necessary? Or would they lay down their swords?

No one could say for certain, oaths aside. All had sworn fealty to Tess, but that did not necessarily mean they would kill their own comrades-in-arms.

Tuzza grew more uneasy about the difficulties ahead with each passing day. So did Jenah, who often had a nightmare vision of the Bozandari troops laying down their weapons, leaving the Anari who marched beside them to be slaughtered and taken into slavery. Both men were wary, even as the friendship between them appeared to grow.

Archer was acutely aware of the tensions, though he seldom mentioned them. “Time,” he had said to both Jenah and Tuzza. “Time is needed. This is all new to our peoples. We must gently carry them along with us for as long as we possibly can.”

But tonight, as he stood at the fore of the tent beside Tuzza and Jenah, he noted that the Anari and Bozandari officers stood apart from one another, almost as if there were an invisible wall between them. Denza Grundan, the quarter-Anari soldier who had recently been promoted to rearmark, alone stood between them like a bridge. Archer was relieved to note that neither side seemed bothered by his presence so near them.

When everyone had settled, Tuzza stepped to the fore and held up his hand. “The time approaches,” he said. “We have received word from both Anari and Bozandari scouts.” He paused then, weighing the import of his words. He paused to choose more carefully. “Let me say that otherwise. Our scouts have returned with information.”

Throughout the tent, heads nodded, noting the distinction he was making. Faces, however, offered no clue as to what lay behind them.

“A legion has marched into Anari lands presumably to rescue us.” This with a nod toward the Bozandari officers. “We must go forth to meet them, but we must try at all costs to meet them peacefully.”

Murmurs of agreement from the light-skinned officers, no sound whatever from the dark-hued faces of the Anari.

Jenah stepped forward then and looked directly at his fellow Anari. “The same applies to us all. We must win allies, not alienate them. All of us face a threat bigger than our past problems. We face a threat to our entire world, as my lord Annuvil can well tell you.”

“Annuvil…” The whisper passed among the Bozandari who had not yet heard Archer’s true identity. The Anari, who had long known, remained stoic. Archer, however, did not speak. Standing with his arms folded, he merely lowered his head and looked downward.

Finally, someone called out, “Where is the lady? It is to her that we have sworn our fealty.”

Only then did Archer lift his head. “She is at the temple,” he said heavily. “The Enemy assaults her. Thus, her sister Ilduin stand guard at her side, as do the clan mothers.”

The silence grew profound at that, and men shifted uneasily.

Archer tilted his head a little to one side and scanned all the faces before him with his gray eyes. “I am sorry,” he said, “that it has come to this. And yet, awful though the days ahead may be, none of you ever would have been born had not we Firstborn made so many mistakes. Learn from our sins. Do not repeat them.”