thirteen years of age clothed in a dirty linen jacket belted at the waist and reaching its knees.
'Soldiers… attacking… Upperpool… village… no quarter… help…' Words gave way to a hacking cough and a spew of bile.
'Arm up, all hands,' said Tomen as everyone listened, poised and tense and eager.
'Action at last,' murmured Laukas.
'Anyone who wants to stay back with the elder can help her move the supplies to the cave,' added Tomen.
No one wanted to stay back. They assembled with such weapons and armor — thick leather coats — as they possessed, while Tomen coaxed information out of the youth.
'Lots of them. More than twenty? I didn't see. Upperpool burning. We can see the flames from Lowerpool. My cousin got away. There were others running.'
'Lowerpool will be hit next.' Tomen raised a hand to gain the attention of his fighters. 'These strikes on villages are the same, a cadre of bullies with good weapons using surprise and intimidation to overtake resistance. We've talked over the drill. We're equal in numbers. They're better armed. We'll use archers and ambush to pick them off, then we close and kill the rest. No prisoners. Laukas, you'll take lookout.'
'The hells! I want to fight-'
'You'll take lookout. It's time for us to make known we don't intend to let this army burn and pillage at will. Tonight our weapons will be our voice, a bold cry against the invaders!'
The company cheered.
'Uh. Might I ask a question? If you don't actually know how many there are-?' Shai's voice fell unheeded as they scrambled for the track, those still gathering their gear swearing as they hurried so as not to be left behind. He was left behind as the clearing emptied.
'What are you?' the youth asked, looking alarmed as he saw Shai. 'An outlander!'
Branches pitched as though in the grip of a mighty wind. A figure dropped from tree to earth, not six paces from the youth, who tripped and sprawled backward. Shaking, he displayed his hands palms up, then sketched a familiar gesture of meeting as he stood.
'Greetings of the day, honored one.'
It blinked, black-eyed, before copying the hand gesture so perfectly that Shai expected it to continue into some extended tale told through song and gesture. It was a male, its slim hips and legs clothed in leggings.
'I have to go, honored one.' The child ran down the track after the fighters, and the creature loped after it.
The noise of their passage faded.
'Here, mule,' said the elder, beckoning to Shai. 'Help me and Navita carry things.'
Was it better to run now while he was unguarded, to head south alone and easily marked as an outlander, knowing everyone he met would be suspicious of him? Or should he stay here, hoping to earn their trust and help? The elder and the young envoy watched him, surely needing no third eye or second heart to interpret his thoughts.
He shrugged. 'Show me what you need carried, verea.'
He hauled from the clearing along a track and over a streamlet and through rockier ground where trees struggled for a foothold. They reached an escarpment thrust so abruptly out of the ground it was like walking into a wall. Vines obscured the face of the cliff. He pushed through a tangle of ropy vegetation to deposit the basket on a dirt floor in the gloom. The cave smelled of dirt and tasted of the forge.
As they came out, the young envoy smiled anxiously at him, as if she had decided to treat him as a comrade. 'My ostiary said I had to get out of town because I was being hunted. I've never been outside the city before today. I don't like the forest. It smells funny. Anything might be creeping up on you!'
'Heya!' called the elder.
Shai and the envoy, sharing a complicit glance, hurried after. They hauled supplies as the afternoon lengthened into dusk. When it got too dark to see, the elder lit a lantern. Eventually they paused for a rest in the abandoned clearing.
'You're a hard worker, Shayi,' the elder said, 'I'll give you that. You might have bashed me over the head and taken a run for it, although you'd not escape the wildings, would you, eh?'
'The wildings?'
As if the word were a summons, the male dropped out of the trees. In lamplight, it sketched gestures with its hands.
The old woman became rigid with disbelief. 'Ambushed at the waterwheel? No survivors? Soldiers coming this way?'
The wilding gestured toward Navita and indicated that the young woman should climb onto its back. Hurry! Hurry!
The breeze waned to stillness. A distant shout hung in the air, and then it was drowned by an odd sound shuddering within the trees, a spill like falling rain. A rippling shadow descended out of darkness: a woman cloaked in night, riding a winged horse. Soldiers emerged out of the forest, surrounding them.
The cloaked woman reined in the horse, raising a hand. 'Child of the Four Mothers,' she said to the wilding. 'I will not harm you because of the ancient law binding my kind to that of the other children of the Hundred. Out of the same blood and bone and thread we were created.'
It hesitated, an arm extended to indicate the trembling young envoy.
'You think to save her, but no action you take can save her from my scrutiny. Go. I may not kill you, but that does not mean my soldiers may not grow impatient and strike.'
It showed its teeth in a grin of furious despair but retreated, vanishing into the trees.
'Aui!' called one of the soldiers. 'Was that a wilding} It's cursed bad luck to kill any of the other children. Curses ten times down the generations.'
'Shut up,' said the captain in charge. 'Holy One, this girl is the Flag Quarter envoy we've been seeking, I'm sure of it.'
'Look at me,' said the cloaked woman pleasantly.
Meeting that gaze, the elder staggered and clutched at her heart as she dropped the lantern, which hit square and did not tip. Two soldiers hauled Navita forward to face the cloak.
'Veiled to my sight!' said the cloak, more a murmur of disappointment. 'You are a seventh daughter, perhaps?'
The girl maintained her dignity with remarkable self-possession. 'I am, Holy One. Seventh of eight girls born to my good mother. I am gods-touched, and according to the law will serve out my days as a servant of the gods. I was dedicated to Ilu the Herald three years ago.'
'Still young,' said the cloak, signaling to the captain, who
moved up behind the young woman with his drawn sword. 'But gods-cursed, not gods-touched.'
The man stabbed Navita in the back, up under the ribs. Her grunt was all that betrayed her surprise. The elder collapsed, sobbing, to her knees, as the captain cut Navita's throat. Her death was swift, and her ghost, twisting out of her body, cast a surprised look at Shai.
'You're gods-touched, too!' the ghost cried. 'Hurry, Shayi! Save yourself!'
Then her spirit fled, crossing under the Gate.
'Are you the veiled outlander Bevard spoke of?' the cloak asked.
T don't have to tell you,' said Shai. 'What harm did Navita ever do to you?'
'Those who are veiled are dangerous because they can lie without fear. They are demons with human faces. It was not the intention of the gods that any stand veiled before us. Captain?'
The captain moved up behind Shai, sword still wet with blood.
'You don't want to kill me,' said Shai.
The cloak sighed a mournful smile. 'Why not?'
'I came to the Hundred looking for my brother. You know him. His name is Harishil, and he wears one of the cloaks.'
The captain whistled. 'There is a resemblance between him and Lord Twilight.'
'Harishil's brother.' The cloak's gaze was as smooth as a polished stone and just as unfathomable. 'Captain, take him to Wedrewe. I'll join you after I have tracked down the gods-touched mendicants so many have spoken
