Passage allowed, and I keep Brinnock?
There was not enough time to bicker any longer. Besides, she'd already made up her mind. She paced a while to help sell some reluctance, but after a suitable interval she stopped, sighed, and looked at Annutsik.
“Agreed.”
Fourteen
The escort that accompanied the Acorilinians to the eastern Yubik border was much smaller than that which had brought them in. Jularra had little doubt that their objective this time was to simply ensure they left Yubik; the few warriors that traveled with them offered little in the way of pleasantries or concern for their travels. After a few days' ride, Jularra and her people were sent off in a manner consistent with the rest of their interactions with the Yubik.
“The Hignriten border is at the base of those hills,” one of the escorts grunted. “Messyleio isn’t far.”
“How far?” Wona sought to clarify. The escort ignored her.
“Please be sure to announce any future visits to Yubik.” The guard was already turning his horse before he finished speaking.
Vischuno slung all three hands up to his forehead in a silly salute.
“A pleasure riding with you!” he hollered.
The Yubik didn’t entertain the jibe. They simply rode away.
The wind was merciless as the Acorilinians resumed their journey east. Jularra and the others shifted in their bundles of fur, but the biting cold teethed on their fingertips and the ends of their noses. After a few miles, they came to rest atop a hill, and looked down on the outskirts of a city Jularra felt reasonably assured was Messyleio. It spilled out from behind the forest. Jularra silently cursed the tease of warmth from the flickering torchlight in the city below while hoping at least some of those from the scouting group survived the landslide.
Others were less silent.
“I fucking hope they show up soon,” Wona whined. The insulating layers around her jaw muffled her words slightly.
Vischuno pulled his own clump of clothing away from his mouth to answer.
“If any survived,” he began, with a solemn note of concern, “the plan was for them to come at sundown.”
Wona scoffed at her lapse in consideration. “Well, yes. I’m trying to stay optimistic.”
“Shh. It can’t be much longer,” Jularra said over her shoulder. “We’ll warm up when we get down there.”
Vischuno leaned forward in his saddle.
“Can’t you just… whip up a fire, or something?”
Jularra sighed.
“No. I don’t want to draw any attention to our location until we’ve heard from the scouts. Now: shh. Freeze quietly, please.”
Wona grumbled something at Vischuno, and Jularra turned to scowl at them both.
Dusk continued creeping to blackness. The wind remained steady, but felt worse with the retreating light’s decreasing temperatures. Some of the accompanying Bedrock took turns to dismount, jogging or bouncing in place to stay warm. Jularra was about to chastise them for the noise their armor was making, but was suddenly distracted.
“There!” Wona blurted. The bundled clothing around her face failed to dampen her exclamation.
Far below Jularra’s group, at the base of the hill, a clump of dancing fire rounded the edge of the nearby forest. Jularra stopped shivering long enough to focus on the approaching figures. Once her mind realized it would be several minutes until the distant riders reached them, the shivering started up again.
Wona sidestepped her horse closer to Vischuno's.
“How many were we expecting, again?” she asked.
Vischuno deferred to one of the original scout group, who turned to face them.
“I’m not sure how many might have made it through,” he said. “I’ll just be glad to see any of them.”
“If these are our people,” Jularra warned.
“Right,” Wona agreed. “I just don’t like a swarm of strangers riding out of the city all at once.”
The riders climbed the hill. Jularra and her group could hear the horses’ hooves and the jingling of armor.
“Be on your guard,” Jularra ordered.
The riders crested the top of the hill. Following her own advice, she placed her hand on her sword as the riders approached. Just as her fingers wrapped around the hilt, a crude imitation of a whip-poor-will cut through the wind.
Denyon reciprocated the whistle.
“It’s them!” Jularra whispered. She reached out to her side and patted the air. The group’s tension released.
Two Bedrock and two Spire, all four plainly clothed, rode up in front of their queen. Denyon reached for his surviving friends, who leaned in their saddles to accept his relieved embrace.
“Queen Jularra,” one of the women greeted as she bowed her head.
“Filona! How many? How many made it?” Denyon asked desperately.
The newly-arrived group exchanged heavy glances.
“We lost seventeen,” Filona said.
“Seventeen?” Wona gasped.
Jularra panned aimlessly around the area, the air emptying from her chest in a hiss.
Seventeen dead in a fucking landslide, she thought. She imagined what it must have been like. Hearing the earth tremble. Seeing it tumble. Trying to escape. She swallowed and struggled to face the scouts.
“Very well,” she whispered.
She had to clear her throat before she could continue, and forced herself to push on—for her people's sake, as well as her own.
“Were you followed?”
“No, Your Majesty,” a Bedrock replied. “As you ordered, the rest of our people are still in town.”
Another of Jularra's scouts clamored for more details.
“What have you learned?”
“It seems most of our information was accurate,” a Bedrock replied. “Messyleio is still run by Melcayro and Abranni. The city is mostly lawless after Hignriten’s attempts to secure it have failed.”
“Were you able to speak with them?” Jularra asked, afraid she already knew the answer.
“Not them specifically. We didn’t have enough time,” Filona answered. “We’ve only been settled for a few days. But we were able to talk with some others.”
“Did you hear or see any mention of Leona?”
“No, ma’am.”
Jularra sighed and rubbed her face. “I was hoping for a bit more preparation before we went down there.”
“My queen,” a Bedrock began, but Jularra cut him off.
“No, no. Don’t apologize. You all have performed admirably. In the face of losing your comrades and being delayed,
