Part II: The Armies Assemble

V

                                The turn of the world had continued on, making the events of the present a thing of the past. The stone tiles had been scrubbed clean. The bodies had been buried. The palace bore no mark of the violence that had rocked it to its very foundations, but even ten years later, the stench of fear and the hint of betrayal lingered in its passageways. The screams of a young prince still echoed off its stone walls.

                “Your Majesty, this is folly.”

                The king strode back and forth in the study where he had once reassured his despondent brother, all the while plotting his doom. “Don’t tell me I’m mad, Maddock. That would not be wise.”

                Maddock felt the implication, knowing the danger his daughter was constantly in. Trillian bandied the threat about on a daily basis. Maddock knew they were at a stalemate, because Trillian could not kill Seeker, as that bargaining chip was the only control he had over Maddock. But on the other hand, Maddock could not leave, because then Trillian would have no use for the girl and would surely dispose of her before Maddock could get her to safety.

                “I would never question your sanity, sire,” Maddock said mildly, “but surely you must see that this will never work.”

                “I am the king. They have to obey me.”

                “This is a compelling point, Your Majesty, but they may not serve you willingly.”

                “I’ll just threaten to raise taxes.”

                Maddock bowed his head. “Excellent strategy, sire.” The captain wondered just how much good he would be doing if he murdered the king here and now. He knew that it would be better for practically everyone throughout Cyrene, Illyria and Viridia. But he also knew that Seeker was in danger. Who knew what backup plans Trillian might have for Seeker in the event of an unnatural death? Selfish as it might be, Maddock could only sit and wait and hope that Viridia would overrun Cyrene and kill the mad king.

                Some hope.

                The state of Cyrene was a sad one indeed. Trillian had all but emptied the royal coffers, which had sat untouched for nearly four generations. The king had levied a tax on Cyrene, the first in known history. His people were growing poorer with every passing week, and the king gambled away their hard-earned money on war and other frivolities.

                Trillian’s latest injustice was the introduction of conscription. With the realm now expanded to include Illyria, Trillian saw no reason not to utilize a resource they had an abundance of. The population had almost doubled in size with the addition of the Illyrians, and Trillian demanded that everyone pay their dues, now in manpower as well as money. In order to conquer the known world, one needed an army, and Trillian wanted to add Viridia to his collection.

                For the first few months, the Cyrenian army had bombarded the border between Viridia and Illyria. Unfortunately for Cyrene, the army had somehow lost three of its top generals in the space of a few months, making tactical maneuvers all but impossible. What advantages they might have had in numbers were quickly squandered by lesser leaders.

                Over the past two years, extensive plotting and planning had taken place. At the palace in Cyro, the king became ever more impatient with the army’s lack of progress. Viridia was by no means a fearsome opponent, but the Viridian army refused to give any ground whatsoever along the Illyrian border.

                Trillian decided upon a new tactic. He ordered the First Battalion to continue its bombardment of the border. But instead of reinforcing them with the Second and Third to ensure that the army could punch through the Viridian front, Trillian ordered the Second Battalion northeast along the Rhys and the Third north through the mountains.

                The army would spread along the mountain range and capture and destroy the many small Viridian villages that skirted the foothills. This would force Queen Lorna to send reinforcements into the grasslands to protect her people, reducing her force on the southern border. The Second and Third could easily handle whatever relief column she sent to the mountains. Then Trillian would send the reserves to Illyria and, with their help, the Cyrenians would overrun the Viridian army, both in the west and south, and have a day’s gallop on to the capital, Vale.

                But to execute this plan, Trillian was reduced to calling in all of the auxiliaries, which by this point were comprised mostly of young boys and old men. Naturally, the nation was in an uproar. Self-centered as he was, Trillian had no concept of what was occurring in his own city. Maddock rather hoped the king would continue on his reckless path and force his country to overthrow him on principle. Murmurs were already rumbling through Cyro, where Maddock was certain a rebellion was forming. He had been deliberately keeping such rumors from reaching the king’s ears.

                Maddock hoped the leader of the underground was competent. The movement needed to be ingenious as well as bold if it had any chance at unseating Trillian. He wondered what kind of strategy they were working on. Or if they even had a strategy. Revolutions are tricky business. Having a cause wouldn’t be enough if it wasn’t suitably organized.

*              *              *

                Maddock had no idea of the extent of the rebellion brewing in Cyrene, or he wouldn’t have worried so much about its success. Word had quickly spread throughout the conjoined nations that a revolution was being organized in Cyro. Villages had begun sending messengers almost two years ago, looking for information as well as support. The men had returned with a single directive.

                Wait.

                And so the many towns and villages had waited, packing away what little they could spare as their king continually stole from them. When the people stood up in outrage at the conscription, very quickly their anger abated, as messengers from Cyro came bearing a missive signed by the leader of the rebellion, known only as the White Raven.

                The villages were instructed to send men to their king, as he required. They were to train with the Cyrenian army, gain ranks if at all possible, and covertly avert Viridian casualties as best as they could. The men would feel out their companions, finding possible allies, converting them if the danger was not too great. As soon as the rebellion was ready, its loyal soldiers within the country’s borders would be given a signal to rise up within the army’s own ranks and take control of Cyrene.

                There wasn’t much information on the White Raven, and no one could guess the meaning behind his name. The little that was known about the rebellion’s head was soon distorted into tall tales and rumors, from which no one could discern fact from fiction.

                It was said that the White Raven was of relatively slender build and average height. Unmatched in both sword and bow, the man was a battle-hardened warrior feared for his deadly skill. According to the rumors, he rarely spoke, and when he did it was in a low, conspiratorial tone, almost a whisper. But while the tales ran rampant and often disagreed on how he became leader or what battles he had fought in, one detail was constant in every story.

                No one had ever seen his face.

                The White Raven always wore a simple helm of hardened steel, along with raiment that was nothing if not battle-ready. Never was he seen without chainmail and seldom without bracers and greaves. His bow and quiver he quite often had strapped to his back, and his sword was always sheathed at his left hip. No one questioned him, for fear of ending up on the wrong side of either his sword point or one of his arrows. He was the brains of the revolution, and he had a plan.

                It was simple, really. The White Raven was merely using the war with Viridia as a distraction. But while his men were being trained by the very tyrant they would attempt to overthrow, the White Raven would exploit the extensive spy network that he had spent years cultivating. Because the leader of the revolution had a suspicion, one that had probably never occurred to anyone else in the country. This man believed that Trillian had had a hand in the deaths of the former monarchy.

                If this proved true, Trillian was not mad, as was said. He was cruel, calculating, and ambitious, and he would make a far more dangerous enemy than a grief-stricken, confused man. His true motives for attacking Viridia, one could only guess. The most obvious would be a lust for power. Conquering the known world certainly seemed a lofty goal worthy of a tyrant who’d murdered his own family. The White Raven believed this to be the case.

                Now all he needed was proof.

VI

                The day after Cyrene declared war on Viridia, Seeker found her father.

                Seeker had had a good childhood. Her mother had been kind and loving, and she had been well cared for. She’d only asked about her father once, and her mother would say only that he was a very good man who could not reveal himself, for the sake of their safety. This response served to make Seeker imagine her father as a dangerous but goodhearted man with many enemies.

                They’d lived in a small town just outside Cyro. After Seeker had turned eight, her mother had finally let her walk the mile to the palace to buy food, clothing and other sundries from the palace market. Once a week, she had relished her freedom during his short journey.

                One such day, in the middle of the summer, Seeker was at the palace when a soldier in the street asked her name. Being a young girl alone, at first Seeker could only stare up at the man in his armor, slightly afraid. But the soldier had smiled at her encouragingly, and Seeker had found her voice.

                “My name is Seeker,” she’d squeaked up at the man. “What is your name?”

                The man had hesitated, looking at her with a hint of the same awe Seeker had felt. “That is a noble name. I am Captain Maddock,” he finally replied. “How old are you, Seeker?”

                “Eight years this past spring.” Seeker had drawn herself up as tall as she could.

                “And where are your parents? Surely you’re not alone in the marketplace.”

                “I don’t have a father, sir. But my mother finally let me walk to the market by myself. She says I’m grown up enough that I can handle responsibility.”

                The soldier had smiled at her young pride. “Well, I’m sure your mother is right. You’re practically grown up! Fiery little thing like you can probably handle anything.” Captain Maddock knelt down so that he could look Seeker in the eye. “You take good care of your mother, Seeker.”

                “I will,” Seeker had said, feeling stronger than Rhys himself.

                Captain Maddock had smiled at her, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Good lass. Here, take this.” The captain unbelted a small knife from his upper thigh. Seeker had been small enough then that the belt fit her waist. She pulled the knife from its sheath, looking at it with wonder.

                “Be careful with it,” Maddock had said. “But do not hesitate to protect yourself and your mother.”

                Seeker nodded as the captain rose to his feet.

                “Take care, Seeker,” Maddock said as he had turned back toward the palace.

                “Thank you, Captain, sir!”

                Maddock had winked at her and continued on his way.

                That night, Seeker had told her mother about meeting a brave, strong soldier. She’d gone on about the man and how nice he was. She’d shown her mother the knife, who had carefully inspected it and agreed that it was a fine weapon.

                “And then Captain Maddock said that I was practically grown up and could handle anything!” Seeker had not been able to stop talking. “I’d like to become a soldier like him.”

                His mother had frozen where she stood. “What did you say?”

                “That I’d like to become a soldier?”

                “No, before that.”

                “Captain Maddock said I could handle anything,” Seeker had repeated, confused.

                “Did he now?” Elspeth had whispered.

                “Yes, he did! Do you think a girl could be in the army?”

                His mother had smiled a little then, and pulled her into a hug. “I’m not sure if it’s allowed, darling. But I doubt anyone could stop you,” she had joked.

                Since then, Seeker had dreamt of being a soldier.

                Ten years after she had first met the captain on the streets of Cyro, Seeker found herself living life on the streets. In her ninth year, Elspeth had died and Seeker had been sent to an orphanage. A few months after she turned ten, the Illyrians murdered the royal family. Over the next eight years, she’d watched her country slowly fall to ruin under its new king. Seeker had been kicked out of the children’s home upon her eighteenth birthday. It took sheer determination to keep from being pulled into the brothels that had sprung up in the seedier parts of Cyro. But Elspeth had been right about Seeker’s stubbornness. Seeker did what she wanted, and no one could force her otherwise.

                Instead, Seeker made her living as a bounty hunter. As an eighteen-year-old girl, she was often underestimated. But her skill with a bow, as well as with the knife Maddock had given her, made her almost unbeatable. Her clients mistook her name as her occupation, and she quickly became known as the Seeker, the best bounty hunter in the country. It was sometimes difficult for people to find her. They often overlooked the redheaded young woman with pale blue eyes.

                Aside from her ability to find people or possessions, whether for the law or for private pay, Seeker had a knack for obtaining information. Some tidbits she shared for exorbitant prices. Others she kept to herself, for future use.

                One afternoon, Seeker was sitting in one of the alleys off the main thoroughfare, resting after an afternoon of helping a young couple find their son, who had gotten separated from them at the market. It had taken several hours to locate the boy, whom Seeker had found crying at the foot of the outer wall of the city. His parents thanked her, explaining tearfully that they had no money to repay her for her kindness. Seeker had waved them off, smiling at their happiness of having found their son. She had watched them go with no small amount of envy.

                She sat in the shadows, watching people hurry by. A certain redheaded captain walked by her, nearly tripping over her as she stuck her foot out to stop him. He swore softly and then grinned when he saw her. “Hello, lass,” he said, stepping into the alley.

                “Captain,” she returned with a salute.

                “I can’t stay, the king is antsy and the realm is off to war.”

                “So I’ve heard. The heralds announced the declaration this morning. I just wanted to see how you are. I haven’t seen you recently.”

                Maddock looked around. “It’s been dangerous to set foot out of the castle without official business. His Majesty has grown exceedingly paranoid,” he said.

                “Is he as mad as the rumors say?” Seeker asked.

                “Don’t count on it. Twisted, he may be, but he has his wits about him, if that’s what you’re asking.”

                Seeker nodded, her face troubled. She looked up. “Any useful information you can pass along?”

                Maddock thought a moment. “Ah, yes. Glyn’s house is next on the list.”

                Seeker frowned. “They have nothing left.” She sighed and reached for the purse she kept hidden in her tunic to pay for the tip, but Maddock waved her off.

                “No charge, Seeker. You know that.”

                Seeker gave him a small smile. “Thanks, Captain. You should probably be heading back. Stay safe,” she added.

                “No one is safe in this city, but I will do my best. Farewell, lass. Take care of yourself.” With a pat on her shoulder, Maddock left Seeker in the alley. She watched him go, her sense of loneliness slightly abated. She held a soft spot for the aging captain, despite his proximity to a king she despised. She felt that he was really a good person, and that Trillian must have some sort of leverage to keep the captain in his grip. Seeker generally believed that most people were good people, even with the endless evidence to the contrary.

                She slipped out into the street to join the last of the merchants heading home from an afternoon of trading.

                The market had been devastatingly unsuccessful. People could barely afford to feed themselves these days, let alone spend precious coin on new clothes or pretty baubles or paintings. The house that she was walking to, for example, was practically empty of all furniture. An old man, Glyn, lived there with his daughter, Seren. His wife had died a couple of years before, and Seren did her best to keep up her father’s house. Unfortunately, rising tax prices had forced her to sell everything they could spare, and some things that they couldn’t.

                Seeker could rarely stand by and do nothing. Not that there was much she could do. Even if she stopped one soldier from threatening a poor family for their valuables, more would come and kill her for her efforts, or worse, make a slave of her.

                Still, she acted on any information that Maddock gave her, risking her life regularly to help the people of her city. Seeker turned down a side street and navigated her way to the alley that ran alongside Glyn’s home.

                No sooner had it come into view than a pounding sounded from the front door of the house. Seeker peeked around the corner, unsurprised to see two Cyrenian soldiers waiting none too patiently for someone to answer the summons. It was Seren who appeared in the doorway.

                “Yes?” Seren stood straight and proud, drawing herself up to her full height. She only reached the soldiers’ chins, but her acidic tone actually made one of them recoil slightly.

                The other man didn’t flinch. “We’re here to collect.”

                Seren’s dark brown eyes narrowed dangerously. “Collect,” she repeated.

                “That’s right.”

                She whisked a strand of black hair out of her face and looked at each soldier in turn. “As you can see, gentlemen, there is nothing more to collect. Leave us be.”

                “I’m afraid we can’t do that, pretty.”

                Seren’s lip curled. “What more can you possibly take away from us?”

                The soldiers glanced at each other, sharing a small smirk before answering. “The king can always use more, uh, handmaidens, young miss.”

                Seren’s anger turned to horror as she quickly glanced around the street, desperately searching for help and finding none. The men reached out and grasped both of her wrists.

                Seeker nonchalantly rounded the corner, appearing from the shadows of the alley like the wraiths that were said to dwell in the Hell of Anochel, the perilous desert that lay a few miles north of the River Rhys.

                “Let her go.”

                Seren looked up at her with a mixture of relief and fear. The two were acquaintances, possibly even friends. But Seren knew nothing of Seeker’s skills and looked terrified that both of them would soon become slaves.

                Seeker glared at the soldiers, both of whom stood about a hair shorter than herself. “Release her or I will kill you where you stand.”

                The two men looked at each other. After a moment, they burst out laughing. The older man released Seren and took a step towards Seeker. “Another one for the soldiers’ entertainment, then?”

                She stared at him for a moment. Without warning, she pulled Maddock’s knife from its hidden sheath under her tunic. She was on top of the soldier in the blink of an eye. Seeker wrestled him to his knees and stood behind him, the blade pressed to his throat. “You should know better than to threaten a bounty hunter. Release her,” Seeker repeated.

                She heard the padding of paws behind her. She ignored it, keeping her gaze leveled on the other soldier.

                The man holding Seren caught his breath. Both soldiers now knew exactly who she was. Startling combat skills aside, very few young women kept the company of a wolf. They also knew that she wouldn’t hesitate to kill them, king’s men or not. “Do I have to tell you again?” she said menacingly.

                The soldier dropped Seren’s wrist as though it had burst into flames. He turned on his heel and sprinted away.

                “Brave one, isn’t he?” Seeker commented to the older man.

                “He’s never faced a woman who could beat him,” the soldier replied honestly.

                Seeker removed the knife and stepped back. “I’m going to let you live,” she told the man. “But just know that if I discover that you have threatened anyone else, man or woman, young or old, you will not see the light of another day.” A soft growl behind her added subtle emphasis to her threat.

                The soldier swallowed, slowly got to his feet, and headed back towards the palace.

                Seren stared at Seeker with fear and respect. Her eyes flicked back and forth between Seeker and the beast behind her. “You are the Seeker?” she whispered. “How is that possible?”

                “You should go back inside, Seren,” Seeker said, sheathing her knife. She turned to go, seeing a flash of white disappear down the alley ahead of her.

                Seren ran after her. “I’m sorry, Seeker, I never thanked you. If not for you, I would no longer have my freedom. Is there anything I can do to repay you?”

                “Leave the city. My name won’t keep them away for long, and as long as that monster is our king, I can’t guarantee your safety.” Seeker’s belief of goodness did not extend to the Cyrenian king. He was to blame for too much of her country’s misery.

                The girl looked up at Seeker with a calculating gaze. “I have a better idea. There are some people you need to meet.”

                Seren took her hand and led her back to the house. The stone structure was almost empty, save for a few chairs and a table, as well as a massive rug on the floor. Seeker wondered why it, too, hadn’t been sold. It was intricate enough and large enough that it could have fetched a good price. Her curiosity was instantly satisfied, however, as Seren lifted the rug to reveal a trap door.

                Seeker looked at Seren with disbelief, who smiled and said, “You’re not the only one with secrets, Seeker.” The trap door revealed a ladder that descended to a well-lit passageway. Seren led her friend through the labyrinth that squatted beneath the city.

                “I didn’t even know there were tunnels down here,” Seeker said with wonder.

                “Most people don’t. The White Raven monitors all entrances and exits, making sure that these passages never reach Trillian’s attention.”

                Seeker had, of course, heard of the White Raven and his brewing rebellion. This tidbit of information had been one that she’d kept to herself.

                The pair finally reached a large wooden door, guarded by a single man.

                “Howell!” Seeker exclaimed.

                Her former neighborhood playmate grinned at her. “I wondered when you’d find your way down here, Seeker.” He nodded to the other girl. “Seren. Found another good recruit, I see.” He stood aside to let them pass.

                The door opened into a high-ceilinged chamber with a large table in the center with maps scattered across its surface. A masked man stood at the table. At least, Seeker assumed it was a man. It could have been anybody. The helmeted head looked up as Seren and Seeker entered the room. The mysterious man nodded to Seren, who retreated through the door, pulling it shut behind her.

                “The elusive Seeker.” It was not a question. The voice that escaped the helm was barely a hiss. “Where’s your loyal dog?”

                “The mysterious White Raven,” Seeker returned. She wasn’t intimidated. She didn’t answer the question. As she approached the table, she gauged the man to be a few fingers short of her height. Other than that, his features and build were completely obscured by his dress.

                “How do we know that we can trust a bounty hunter? Surely the highest bidder wins your loyalties.”

                Seeker shook her head. “Stop trying to test my character. You have the most extensive spy network in the country, possibly in the world. You already know exactly what I do and why I do it, and if you thought I could be bought, you wouldn’t have allowed Seren to bring me down here at all.”

                The White Raven burst out laughing. It was a musical sound, lent a metallic quality by the helm that made it tinny and genderless. “I had a feeling I’d like you. So, can you stomach constant danger and the possibility of death?”

                “Of course.”

                The White Raven nodded. “Good. I hear you have always wanted to be a soldier. Now’s your chance.”

*              *              *

                She was waiting for him in the alley the day after she met the White Raven. Seeker didn’t know if he’d actually show up, given his unease the day before, but the message she’d left at the guardhouse had been urgent enough that she hoped he would come anyway.

                Morning was warming into afternoon when Maddock finally appeared. “Seeker! What’s the matter?” His voice radiated with concern. “I can’t stay long, but I got your message. It was sneakily done, mind you, but a bounty hunter looking for a soldier is bound to raise some questions.”

                Seeker did not beat around the bush. “I want to join the army,” she said.

                Maddock’s jaw dropped. It seemed he would forbid it, but he simply asked, “Why?”

                “I have my reasons.”

                “Now, listen here. I know that you have no one to answer to these days and that you’ve been doing just fine on your own, but…”

                “But what, Maddock? But the army is no place for a woman? But I’d be better off married with a few children running around? I will not let you tell me what I can or cannot do.”

                “I’m not trying to tell you what to do, Seeker. I lost any right to order you about a long time ago.”

                Seeker opened her mouth to speak when meaning evolved from his words. She just stared at Maddock, and his red hair, and his blue eyes. She wondered why it hadn’t occurred to her sooner.

                “If you join the army, you will be in constant danger, and not just from the Viridians. Your reasons are your own, but if they are at all related to the rebellion, you’ll have to be even more careful.”

                She stared at him. “Trillian does have leverage on you, doesn’t he?”

                “Of course he does. I come to the market as often as I can to make sure he hasn’t killed you out of spite. I wish I could explain everything to you, the deaths of the royal family, of your mother, the war with Viridia, but we simply do not have the time. I can get you into the army. But Trillian will know, and he will be sure to know where you are and what you are doing at all times.”

                Seeker felt her lip tremble and quelled it with frustration. “You’ve stood by him for eight years so that he would not hurt me?”

                Maddock sighed, staring at her unhappily. “Ten years ago, I told that bastard that he could rot in the Hell of Anochel and that I would have nothing to do with him. Because of my disobedience, you no longer have a mother, Seeker. I could not let the same happen to you.”

                Tears spilled onto Seeker’s cheeks. She’d dreamed of finding her father her whole life. This was not how she’d pictured finally meeting him.

                “I’m so sorry, Seeker,” Maddock whispered. He looked as though he desperately wanted to hug her, but did not dare. He cleared his throat. “If you are serious about this rebellion, about joining the army, then I can help you. Truly, I’m thankful that you can do what I could not.”

                Seeker looked at the man she’d known for years, the man she’d secretly pretended was the father that she had never had. She wiped aware her tears. “I am serious. Someone has to do something about that monster, and I can. But I have a request.”

                “Anything,” Maddock said without hesitation.

                Seeker smiled. “From here on out, I am not leverage on you. I know the risks involved, and I am going through with this anyway.” She put her hands on his shoulders. “Do not let him push you around on my account. Be a double-agent. Work against him. But do not let your fear for my safety color your judgment. Ten years ago, you gave me a dagger and told me not to hesitate to protect myself.” She reached down and pulled the knife from her thigh, holding it out to him. “Now, I am telling you the same thing.”

                He grinned at her. “No, lass, you keep it.” He reached behind his back and pulled out a similar knife. “I’ve got one.”

                “So I watch my back and you watch yours, and we’ll make it through this in one piece. Deal?”

                “Deal,” Maddock said, holding out his hand to shake on it.

                Seeker threw her arms around him instead. “Now, get me into the army, Dad.”

VII

                “Hawkeye!”

                He lowered his bow and turned in his saddle to see Ewan riding towards him. Cai touched noses with Ewan’s bay. The other horse was barely fifteen hands, and Ewan had to crane his head back to look at Hawkeye, who grinned down at him from the black stallion’s towering back.

                Ewan ignored Hawkeye’s silent teasing. “We’ve had word. The Cyrenians have split. Two battalions have left the southern border and are making their way north. Our scouts say they are about a two-day’s ride south of your village, Hawkeye.”

                The grin vanished. “Orders?”

                Ewan smirked. “Stop them if possible, send for reinforcements if not.”

                “We’ll stop them.” Hawkeye wheeled Cai around. “Macaulay!”

                “Yes, Shadowhawk!” The standard-bearer appeared at his left hand.

                “Round up the troops, tell them we’ll be heading for Torren at dawn. We’ve a half-day’s ride ahead of us and a battle waiting for us at the end of it.”

                “Yes, sir!” Macaulay trotted away to relay the orders.

                 Hawkeye turned back to his target. He’d been practicing with a bow, as his swordsmanship was such that no one he’d met had been able to disarm him and practicing seemed unnecessary. And although he was a fairly good shot, he wasn’t nearly as skilled with a bow as he was with a sword. He’d slowly progressed as an archer, and now set himself to mastering the most difficult feat an archer could accomplish: shooting from horseback.

                Hawkeye took a deep breath and brought his bow up, taking aim at the targets set up in the camp. Ewan slapped Cai at the last second, causing the stallion to jump slightly to the left. Not only did Hawkeye keep his seat, the arrow sank into the center of the target with a satisfying thud.

                “I do not know why you even bother practicing, Hawkeye.” Ewan looked rather disappointed that he hadn’t affected the shot at all.

                “No one is perfect.”

                Ewan snorted and turned his horse towards the command tent. Hawkeye took one last look at the target and did the same. They needed to discuss how they would protect his home.

                Theirs was a clandestine unit, called the Shadows, made up of fifty of the most skilled men and women in the Viridian army. As such, few knew of its existence, and the unit moved constantly to keep it that way.

                Hawkeye came to head the Shadows after barely six months in the army. Hardworking, silent, and graced with deadly skill, he had gained rank quicker than any of his predecessors. On top of his physical abilities, he was also dazzlingly well-educated. His knowledge of battle-strategy rivaled many of the generals in the Viridian army.

                When General Kenzie had placed him in command of the unit, he had questioned her orders. After all, he’d only been in the army for half a year and was only twenty-three at the time. But Kenzie had insisted, saying only that he was the right man for the job. She had been correct, of course.

                The Shadows had accepted him completely, after a few key skirmishes where his competency proved him worthy of their trust. Though they often whispered behind his back, wondering about his past or his battle wounds, he sensed that, overall, the members of the Shadows had put their doubts aside and their faith in his leadership.

                Rather than ‘Captain,’ they had first twisted his name into the rather literal ‘Hawk in the Shadows.’ This name had subsequently been shortened to Shadowhawk. He often wondered to himself how many more aliases he would acquire over his lifetime.

                Under Hawkeye’s leadership, the Shadows had covertly eliminated three of Trillian’s most loyal generals. The fact that Cyrene was changing tactics was credit to the Shadows’ skill, as Trillian could not figure out why the Illyrian line could not get past Viridian’s southern border and needed a new approach.

                This new approach now required the Shadows to act as a regular branch of the army, which meant trading their normal black and grey garb for the green of the Viridian army.

                Any knowledgeable military person would bet that the Shadows would all be dead before dusk. No unit, no matter how skilled, could take on two battalions with only fifty soldiers. It just wasn’t done. But it was Hawkeye’s job to prove this knowledgeable person to be woefully ignorant.

                Hawkeye stepped into the command tent, where Ewan and Eilis waited for him.  The twins looked up from the map on the table, their expressions mirror images of each other. Their countenances were often mirrors of each other, their Viridian blood running strong through their golden hair and blue eyes, with open, handsome faces. Eilis was one of fifteen women in the Shadows, just as strong and skilled as the thirty-five men. Eilis certainly commanded a fair share of attention from her stunning beauty alone, but was respected for her abilities.

                Eilis had joined the Shadows only nine months ago, but Hawkeye ha known Ewan for over two years. They’d met when Ewan had been riding messages for the queen, back when Cyrene declared war on Viridia.

                Roughly two-and-a-half years before, as spring had tentatively showed its face again in the foothills, Hawkeye had been teaching in the town square of his home, Torren, when Ewan had approached on horseback. The man bore the crest of the Viridian monarchy, a large black oak tree in a verdant field. Hawkeye had sent his class home early and approached the travel-weary rider.

                Hawkeye had greeted him, saying, “You look as though you’ve been riding for weeks.”

                Ewan flashed a tired smile. “That is because I have been riding for weeks.” He dismounted and offered his hand to Hawkeye. “Ewan.”

                “Hawkeye.” They shook, and Ewan led his horse to the small store near the center of the town, tying his sturdy gelding to the hitching post.

                Ewan looked up at the large, pitch-black stallion standing next to his small bay and chuckled. He patted the horse on the neck and commented, “This steed looks like a warrior if ever I saw one.”

                “This is Cai. I’ve been riding him to town a lot lately. He broke his right foreleg about a year ago, but he healed very well.” Ewan bent to study Hawkeye’s handiwork, feeling the leg for any infirmities and finding none.

                “You did a very thorough job. He’s sound as a cathedral.”

                “Thank you. So what brings a royal messenger all the way out to the foothills?”

                Ewan sighed. “War,” he said grimly.

                “War? With whom?”

                Ewan looked at Hawkeye strangely. “There is only Cyrene now. Didn’t you know?”

                Hawkeye had shaken his head. “News does not usually make it all the way out here.”

                Ewan nodded and went on to explain. “The Cyrenian king, Trillian, claimed Illyria about five years ago. The former Illyrian king, Gryphon, slaughtered the entire Cyrenian royal family, you know. Apparently, the Crown Prince endured grievous wounds long enough to save his uncle by killing the bastard. Can you imagine it? A fifteen-year-old boy killing a hardened warrior. He must have been quite the young man.”

                Hawkeye had listened to the story with open surprise. “That is incredible,” he’d agreed. “But why did the Cyrenian king declare war on Viridia? To what end?”

                “We haven’t a clue. Viridia never challenged his ascension to the throne after his brother’s death, nor his conquering of Illyria. There is no conceivable reason to attack us. He is practically related to our monarchy, after all.”

                “Related? How so?”

                “Trillian’s brother, Kynan, married a Viridian princess. Fiona’s cousin, Lorna, is still queen of Viridia.” Ewan shook his head sadly. “Some say that Trillian couldn’t handle the loss of his family. They say he’s gone mad with a grief that only blood will assuage.”

                Hawkeye had pondered this for a moment before giving up on the lunacy of the distant king. “Are you here to recruit? This is a town of old folk, women and children. You’ll find few soldiers here.”

                Ewan had cast him an appraising glance. “I seem to have found at least one.” When Hawkeye hadn’t responded, Ewan pulled a scroll from his saddlebags. He handed it to Hawkeye. “If you decide to join, present this at the palace. You look like somebody we could use.”

                Hawkeye had hesitated, but he accepted the scroll and shook Ewan’s hand. “Safe journey,” he said.

                “To you, as well,” Ewan had replied with a smile. “Perhaps we shall meet again.”

                Hawkeye had departed for Vale that night and had certainly met Ewan again. They crossed paths often in the capital city and quickly became friends. It had been Ewan who had recommended Hawkeye to General Kenzie. Fighting together in the Shadows quickly cemented their mutual trust. Hawkeye considered Ewan as something akin to a brother, a relationship he’d never had before.

                Eilis was another matter. Her relationship with her twin was surprising, only in that both fought with the complete assurance that the other would have their back. More often than not, one would magically appear when the other was threatened, seemingly without thought or effort. They reminded Hawkeye of two children he had taught in Torren. Malcolm and Rhona had been quite the duo, despite the fact that Rhona was two years Malcolm’s junior.

                But while Eilis and Ewan got along splendidly, Eilis always treated Hawkeye with a certain chill that made him uneasy. He had always given her the utmost respect, had never made an advance on her or commented on her beauty, but for some reason she treated him like a rogue. He assumed it had something to do with his own looks.

                “Defending Torren is going to be extremely difficult.” Ewan spoke frankly. Despite their skills, the Shadows were facing at least one, if not two, battalions in a relatively small village.

                Hawkeye nodded in agreement. “But up to this point, the Cyrenians have met no resistance. They have taken, what, three villages since they crossed the border? They won’t be expecting us. Also, I have a small following in town that might be of significant use to us. As spies, they’d be -”

                “Oh, please.” Eilis’ voice was cold and piercing.

                Ewan opened his mouth to reprimand his sister for such blatant disrespect, but Hawkeye stopped him. This had been inevitable, and they might as well get it out of the way. He looked Eilis in the eye. “Please, Eilis. Do explain why you constantly feel the need to treat me as if I were fathered by Anochel himself.”

                She looked at him with the same expression one might bestow upon a particularly slimy worm. “I just don’t approve of using untrained old folk, women, and children as decoys, or whatever plan it is you have brewing in that pretty little head of yours. We try to preserve life, if at all possible.”

                Hawkeye’s sword slid from its sheath and was at Eilis’ throat in the blink of an eye. Eilis was an exceptional swordswoman, but she wasn’t prepared for this. Her blue eyes widened and her breathing quickened.

                “You may say whatever you like about what you think of me. You may treat me with the disrespect you seem to think I deserve. But never, and I mean never, insult my honor again, or the words will be your last. Do not make the mistake of thinking I will spare you because you are a woman, and don’t ever suggest that I would willingly put innocent people in danger. You have no idea what I have been through to get to where I am today, and the people in that village are the closest thing I have left to family, aside from your brother.”

                Hawkeye lowered his sword, but he continued to tower over her a moment before sheathing his blade and turning to the map spread out on the table.

                “So the stories of your past that are spreading through the unit like wildfire are false? They say you have no respect for the sanctity of life.”

                “No one knows a damn thing about my past, Eilis. I have worked hard to keep it that way.” His fury diminished, and he contemplated her with an almost melancholy expression. “After nine months of fighting with me, during which I designed every single operation so that we would not have to harm a single soldier, even, let alone a woman or child, you still believed that I was a soulless bastard? Dare I even ask what sort of murderous things I’m accused of doing?”

                Eilis opened her mouth, presumably to tell him all about the unspeakable acts he had supposedly committed, but Macaulay opened the flap then.

                “Shadowhawk, it seems that two children have walked into our camp, a boy and a girl. I haven’t a clue how they knew we were here, but they are positively demanding to see our captain.”

                Hawkeye struggled to control his emotions. “Send them in, Macaulay.”

                The standard-bearer stood back, holding the flap to let the youths pass. In walked a boy of about fourteen years and a girl who looked enough like him to be his sister. She was perhaps twelve. Hawkeye’s face split into a huge grin at the sight of them. Before he could say anything, the two had squealed in delight and tackled him.

                Ewan and Eilis looked on in bafflement, at first convinced the children were attacking their captain. But it quickly became clear that they knew Hawkeye quite well.

                “Hawkeye! Where in Rhys’s name have you been? You disappear and then never write!” The girl’s voice was indignant as well as teasing. “Here we think we’re going to have to buddy up to some stuffy captain to get him to help us and we find you slinking around the grasslands not a half-day’s ride from us!”

                The boy was the first to disentangle himself and gain his composure. “So you’re a captain now? Why is it they call you Shadowhawk?”

                “Just to annoy me, I think.”

                The girl giggled.

                Hawkeye turned to Ewan and Eilis. “These two ruffians are old students of mine.” Ewan nodded in understanding and made a noise resembling “Aha!” Eilis continued to look bewildered.

                The boy stuck out his hand. “I’m Malcolm, and this is my little sister, Rhona.” Eilis shook it, smiling slightly.

                “Hawkeye taught us how to fight,” Rhona explained matter-of-factly. She turned serious. “The village south of us managed to dispatch a messenger before they were completely destroyed. The Cyrenians are on their way and we haven’t the ability to resist them on our own. Zar came in to town from the farm and told us he was fairly certain he’d seen what looked like an army unit out here, but you’d all been wearing grey so he wasn’t sure which side you were on.”

                Hawkeye had gone still. “Zar?”

                “Yes, he’s the one who organized us. It was no mean feat,” Malcolm added.

                Hawkeye sighed. Zar had told him not to come back until he’d finished all he set out to do. Hawkeye hadn’t finished a damn thing, but he supposed these were extenuating circumstances. He pushed the thought of Zar to the back of his mind. “So, how many of you have we got to work with? Have you been practicing? Are you any use to us?”

                Rhona smirked. “Since you’ve been gone we’ve been driving off those troublesome raiding parties.” Hawkeye nodded, remembering his first encounter with the Illyrian robbers. They had been showing up pretty consistently when he’d left Torren. “We’re about twenty-five strong, thirty if you count those under ten. Then there are Zar and our mothers; they number about twenty altogether. We’ll have those Cyrenians wishing they had never left home.”

                Hawkeye frowned, now wondering if there wasn’t some truth to Eilis’ earlier accusations that he would willingly risk innocent lives. Malcolm was by far the oldest of the children, and by Hawkeye’s calculations he had only just turned fifteen this summer. “I have no intentions of endangering you, or your mothers. I had thought to use you for spying purposes, if anything at all.”

                Malcolm laughed. “I dare you to try and stop us from fighting, Hawkeye. You might lose an eye.”

                Hawkeye tried to glare at him, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He knew as well as Malcolm did that trying to stop the children from doing anything was a useless task. “But your mothers? When did they start carrying swords around?”

                “Oh, they didn’t,” Rhona replied. “But you just try to attack our village without getting hit by one of their arrows.”

                Ewan met Hawkeye’s gaze with amazement. Children with swords and mothers with bows? It was ludicrous. But Hawkeye just shrugged, as if to say, “Why not?” After all, they brought their numbers above a hundred and gave them a much better chance of success as well as survival. He’d trained them himself. Hawkeye looked at Eilis, who was refraining from speaking, though it seemed to be a great internal struggle.

                “You may now accuse me of willingly putting innocents in danger,” Hawkeye said sardonically.

                She actually laughed and said nothing in reply.

                 Malcolm looked up at him eagerly. “So what’s the plan?”

                Hawkeye pondered for a moment before coming to a decision. “Macaulay!” he called.

                Macaulay poked his head in. “Yes, Shadowhawk.”

                “Change of plans. Inform the troops that we head for Torren tonight and that I intend to be there before dusk. We should have a day of preparation tomorrow so don’t worry them about gear just yet.”

                “Yes, sir.” Macaulay retreated to spread the word.

                Hawkeye turned to Malcolm and Rhona. “How did you two get here?”

                The two just smiled before scampering out of the tent. Hawkeye sighed and followed them out to the edge of camp. Grazing on the outskirts were two horses, one black stallion taller than Cai and a small grey mare. Both looked up at the sound of pattering feet. Rhona and Malcolm stopped short of the horses and looked back at Hawkeye, who could only stare. The grey mare whinnied and trotted towards him.

                Hawkeye’s face broke into a smile as he met one of his oldest living friends. The black stallion followed close behind. He stroked their noses. Whisper, the mare, kept pushing against him. “Hello, beautiful. Did you miss me? How about you, Nox?”

                As he looked at the magnificent beasts before him, he felt his heart ache for home.