Denestia’s twin moons cast their silvery glow across the land, bathing the snowdrifts and mounds along the plains north of Eldanhill in a ghostly sheen. Even from where she and Jerem stood, the distant roar of the great Whitewater Falls reached them. Silence draped their immediate vicinity in a cold sheet. Directly ahead, the walls around Eldanhill rose like some black monolith, stark against the ground’s white. Beyond it shone the orange luminescence from torches within the town. A town that had grown to the size of a small city in her absence.
“Nervous?” Jerem asked from beside her.
“Not particularly,” she lied even as her stomach fluttered as if she was about to receive Ancel’s first kiss.
Jerem chuckled. “A word of warning,” he said, becoming serious. “Whatever you do, do not let anyone know you’re in the Tribunal’s employ. If you do, they will tread lightly around you.”
“You don’t have to tell me about my own people. Besides, Ryne already knows who and what I am. I’d be more worried about Jillian’s reaction. For years she tried to warn me about the Dorns.”
“Well, Jillian isn’t there. She’s been sent away on another task. As for Ryne, no one must know his true identity. You need to understand that as grievous as your scars are, for some in Eldanhill, theirs are worse when it comes to the man he once was. Those painful memories are another reason I advise against revealing yourself also.”
“Fine, I’ll keep your warning in mind.”
“Well then, I leave the rest to you. Remember, as soon as you move, the guards will see you.”
“You aren’t worried that I carry out the Exalted’s orders?” Irmina avoided looking in Jerem’s direction.
“You will do what is necessary.” With those words, a horizontal slit appeared in front of Jerem, accompanied by a sound akin to a blade slicing empty air. The slash opened into a shape much like an eye before twisting into a vertical position. Beyond was darkness. He stepped through the portal. It snapped shut behind him.
Irmina was abruptly cold and alone. In the silence around her, the thumping of her heart resounded. She was returning to Eldanhill, the only place she ever called home, and she felt like an utter stranger. Why did the task ahead wear on her so? By no means was this her first mission. She’d been on countless such jobs. She’d deceived, manipulated, coddled, cajoled, and killed, all in the name of her profession and the Tribunal. So why did this feel different?
The ties she cut should have left her emotions free, not jumbled. The thought of the Dorns or the Council on a whole upset her stomach like spoiled food. Her craving for revenge boiled inside her until it seethed, but something, no, someone else made her nervous, gave her second thoughts about what she needed to do.
Ancel. A sigh escaped her lips. What will you do when I meet you? How will I react? She drew her cloak tighter around her.
The bell at the top of Eldanhill’s Streamean tower tolled in a long gong as if announcing the dead. Torches brightened the towers along the wall’s length. Voices shouted orders. Several fireballs arched into the air, their flames crackling and hissing as they met the night sky’s cold and moisture.
Cursing to herself as she realized her mistake, Irmina made to flap her reins. Whispers of movement froze her in her tracks. She eased her hand down to her sword hilt and waited.
The snow around her shifted and came alive. In over a dozen places, the white fluff stood in the shapes of men and canines. A few of the animal forms were too huge to be dogs. As if synchronized, they shook, similar to a dog shaking water from its fur. The snow fell away to reveal several large men dressed in furs and animal hides. A torch in one of their hands sparked to life, lighting up the area in orange hues. Beside each man was a daggerpaw or a wolf, teeth bared, tongues lolling in wicked grins.
Slowly, Irmina regarded each. The Seifer and Nema mountain clans were working together.
“After you, little lady,” a gruff voice said.
Someone snickered.
“And nuffing funny. Our babies can run down de fastest horse.” The big rawboned man nearest her reached out and patted his daggerpaw. “Not dat your horse can run very fast in dis.” He nodded to the snow. “But in case you were tinking you could …”
Irmina smiled at hearing those dialects again. Not only did the man leave off the ‘th’ in certain words, but others he converted to a ‘d’ so ‘that’ became ‘dat’ and ‘this’ turned into ‘dis’. Some letters changed to an ‘f’.
“I’ve no intention to be doing anything funny,” she said. “Although, it’s been a while since I’ve seen a good guiser’s play. You know, for a moment there I actually thought you men were dressed the part, disguised as sheep.”
A low growl in his throat, the man stepped next to her. “Dere aren’t any sheep here, lil miss, only mountain lions. I can show you what it’s like to fuck one.” He wiggled his waist, the shaggy fur on the front of his pants bouncing with the movement. His fellows guffawed at his joke.
Irmina glanced from Rawbone to his daggerpaw. Cropped short, the man’s hair reminded her of the tuft on a donkey’s head, and he had a face below it to match. What was worse, his tone sounded much like a bray. She gave him a slow smile. “I’d rather your daggerpaw fuck me than to lay with a mule of a man.”
Several clansmen chuckled. Even in the moonlight, Irmina picked out the angry glimmer in his eyes and the clenching of his hands near the axe on his hip.
Rawbone shifted closer, reaching out and grabbing her reins. “Look here, lil miss. I’ll have none of your lip. Now, move it or lose it.”
“Lose it.” Irmina drew her sword and relieved the man of the hand still holding her reins.
Blood painted the silvery snow red, its warmth throwing up steam. The severed hand, now in a half-closed fist, fell to the ground. The man yowled and snatched at his stump.
Snarling, its bone hackles snapping up into knife sharp edges, his daggerpaw launched itself at her.
Irmina opened her Matersense, seized essences of air, and stopped the animal in mid flight. The daggerpaw hung suspended in the cushiony strands she Forged. A wave of her hand sent the creature flying fifteen feet into a snowy mound.
Her sword point was at Rawbone’s throat before he managed to move. “Call off your pet.” She nodded toward where the daggerpaw was clambering to its feet.
Squeezing his arm above the wrist, the man said a few guttural words. The daggerpaw shrank back, but its gaze glowed with vehemence.
Irmina gave a nod of satisfaction then surveyed the clansmen arrayed around her. As she expected none of them had attempted to help or interfere in a one on one fight. Not yet. But the scowls and hands tightening around weapons said any one of them might wish to challenge her on their own. After all, she was a weak lowlander and a woman. Why would one of the mountain men need assistance to teach her a lesson? Pride could be anyone’s undoing. “I don’t take kindly to threats. Now, any of you move, and I’ll give him another mouth to yap out of.”
The men remained still. None uttered a word, but their eyes and the weapons in their hands spoke in volumes of violence. Irmina’s horse snorted.
“That includes you,” Irmina said to a man trying to sneak from her blind side.
The whisper of his feet on snow ceased.
“Now,” she said, “until over a year and a half ago, Eldanhill used to be home. It never had a wall, and your kind stuck to the mountains. Why are the Nema and Seifer not only here in the lowlands but working together?”
No one spoke. The wounded man moaned.
“You can answer now.”
“T-Tings have ch-changed, miss,” Rawbone said between clenched teeth.
“Oh?”
“D-Dey can tell you what h-happen w-when dey get here.” Rawbone nodded toward Eldanhill’s wall.
A sally gate opened to reveal several forms illuminated by the backdrop of torchlight. One of them mounted, pulled a hood over their head, and kicked the horse into a trot.