If they were surprised by her offer, they didn’t show it. The elders weren’t fools. They likely predicted the course of this interview, just as she had. A part of Alena hated having to jump over the obstacles they put before her, but this was the Etari way. The elders wouldn’t make this decision without seeing her face and hearing her voice.
Dunne dismissed her. “Wait outside the tent, Alena. We must talk.”
Jace waited for her outside. His gaze was questioning. She shook her head. “They won’t allow anyone control of their gate.”
He didn’t look surprised. “So it’s Falar, then.”
“Hopefully.”
Jace gave a grim laugh. “No one hopes to travel to Falar, sister.”
“You don’t have to go.”
“You know that I do.”
Alena let the argument go. It was one they had already had, and she had lost. Jace refused to leave her, no matter what opportunities awaited him at home.
She was glad, even if she didn’t understand.
They waited together. The ring of guards around the tent of the elders ensured the two of them were out of hearing range. They had nothing to do but wait.
Eventually, Sooni came out of the tent. She looked distraught, but Alena wasn’t sure what that implied.
Sooni didn’t leave them in suspense long.
“You’ve been granted permission to travel to Falar on behalf of the Etari people. You leave soon.”
25
Though they knew a war party waited in the open, Weylen observed every caution as they approached. The loose column broke further apart, the Falari warriors leaving the path and scrambling up and down the rocky terrain like gazelles.
Archers nocked arrows as the group advanced. Their progress slowed to a crawl, each warrior alert for traps, ambushes, and other unforeseen unpleasantness.
Brandt, Ana, and the imperial guards closed tighter upon Regar. The maneuver was half noble, half self-preservation. They might take an arrow for him, but close to him, most hoped his powerful affinities would prevent them from having to.
Brandt rarely regretted not practicing more archery. He possessed a basic competence, as all imperial soldiers did. As he watched Weylen’s war party advance, though, he was reminded of how little a blade meant in these mountains. Even if he made himself light, in the time it took him to scramble from one enemy to the next, he’d be riddled with arrows.
Even at their cautious pace, they came face to face with the other war party before long. Brandt took the scene in with a glance. If this was an ambush, it was either far more clever than he could comprehend, or it had been set by an overeager child.
The location was terrible. The opposing war party stood in a clearing. Brandt couldn’t spot useful cover for almost two hundred paces. If he’d been in charge, he saw a half dozen better locations.
The other war party held their bows loosely. Arrows remained in quivers. They gave no sign of hostility, but at the same time, Brandt didn’t see a relaxed face in the group.
Regar approached to within a hundred paces. Brandt followed a pace behind, eyes searching for any clue as to the war party’s intentions.
Ren, Weylen, and a handful of their Falari escorts joined them. Weylen spoke softly to Regar. “Their warleader is named Merek. They are a mountain clan, and I am not sure of their intentions.”
Regar nodded. Brandt saw the plans forming in his eyes. “Remain in place.”
Without further warning he stepped forward, alone. After ten paces he stopped again. Brandt forced his hand to relax its grip on his sword. Regar was skilled enough to protect himself from attack for the two heartbeats it would take Brandt to close the distance, but Brandt’s heart still raced as he saw the prince standing alone before a Falari war party.
Merek stepped forward. He surpassed Regar’s ten paces, stopping halfway between the forces.
A gust of wind coming down the mountains kicked up a cloud of dust. Brandt tensed. The momentary distraction was all an astute enemy required. He searched the air for arrows but saw none.
When Merek spoke, his voice wasn’t loud, but it reached every ear. “Word has spread through the mountains that Weylen’s village hosts a strong warrior. Where is he?”
Regar stepped forward, but Merek shook his head. “Not you, prince. The man who fought on the rooftops when Shulin attacked.”
Brandt glanced at Ren, who gestured him forward. “Don’t kill anyone if you can help it.” A hint of a smile played across his face.
Brandt stepped forward. Merek nodded once. “You match the description given. Are you the warrior who defended the prince’s rooftops the night of the raid?”
“I am.”
“Then we have come to test our skill against you.”
Merek waved, and a single warrior emerged from his ranks. A woman, smaller than average, but she carried herself with a deadly grace. Too often warriors confused size with danger.
Brandt didn’t.
This woman would slice him open in a heartbeat if he gave her the chance.
He cursed under his breath as the woman drew not one, but two short blades. They danced a quick, intricate pattern he barely followed.
With no other explanation, and no chance for him to understand what was proper, the woman charged, her footsteps light over the ground.
She was fast.
Brandt reacted, years of training forcing his muscles into motion. The woman’s blades were shorter and lighter than his own sword. She would expect him to retreat, to use his longer reach to his advantage. In response, her own strategy would be relentless advance.
So Brandt did the unexpected. He charged forward the moment she was within ten paces.
If the move caught her off guard, she didn’t show it. One of her blades caught his attack while the other aimed for his throat.
Brandt pressed harder on his blade. He couldn’t slide past her defense, but the extra pressure pushed her off her line, and the stab at his throat missed wide.
She twisted
