The Arcana: Shadow Wars, Codex I

Chapter XX

The Killing Ground

In which Bess and Edana face jackals great and small

All too soon the blue sky turned black, the sun retiring and giving way to the stars. Elamis; however, was aglow with light, both arcane and elemental: a parade of townspeople carried special glowlights shaped like starbursts and mounted onto carved wooden sticks.

In their midst a long, black-feathered ‘serpent’ ran through the main avenue of the city. Shadows shrouded the serpent, such that its baleful red eyes gleamed in sharp relief.

“The Abyssal Serpent!” children cried, pointing at the snake. Little ones capered before it and taunted it, testing their courage. Occasionally the snake “hissed” and nipped at them, sending the children fleeing back to the comforting arms of their parents.

Yet the snake did not have everything its way—cheers went up when two golden lamassu gave chase. The celestial guardians—winged, human-headed with the bodies of lions—pulled a chariot carrying a beautiful young woman.

“Roshanak! Roshanak!” cheered the crowd.

“Oh, so that’s what they call Sorcha here,” Bessa murmured to Edana. They walked in the midst of the parade lining the main avenue, following in the wake of Nima, a Star Dragon auxiliary who served as their translator.

Clad in shimmering white and gold, “Roshanak” threw kisses and coins at an adoring crowd. On her head she wore a gleaming starburst crown. In her right hand her scepter, capped with a starburst, shone with an ethereal golden light.

“Is this like your winter solstice celebration in your Falcon’s Hollow?” Nima asked.

“No, you Anshani celebrate differently than the Silurans of Falcon’s Hollow,” Edana replied. “At home we don't have the Abyssal Serpent ‘slithering’ through the streets; what we do is set up a stage to look like the entrance to the Abyss of the Damned. Then the Serpent comes up from ‘depths’ of the Abyss, and he’s accompanied by three baying curs named Sorrow, Despair, and Death.”

With a roguish tone Bessa added, “Instead of the snake terrorizing everyone, the evil dogs have at it. But we don’t let them have their way! Not in Falcon’s Hollow. No, we thrust out our sun amulets and repel them. We keep up this skirmish until we see a glorious golden cloud appear over the stage. Lo, it is ‘Sorcha’ descending from above! Everyone cheers as she drives the serpent and its minions back to the Abyss.”

Nima and Edana both laughed at her droll description of the festivities in Falcon’s Hollow. When Roshanak’s chariot drew near, Edana caught one of the coins she tossed. She and Bessa bent their heads together and examined it.

Engraved on the front of the coin was a faithful likeness of the woman portraying Roshanak, in her full goddess regalia. Scrolled along the outer edges of the coin were words written in the Anshani script.

“Is this her name, Nima? And what’s this on the bottom?” Edana asked.

“At top it says, ‘Mina Elamisi, Winter Solstice Queen,’ and at bottom it indicates this is the fortieth year of our king.”

“What a fantastic memento for being Sorcha—Roshanak, I mean,” Bessa said. “We didn’t mint coins in Falcon’s Hollow. When the town’s council selected me to portray her, they did it because I had done the most charitable works that year. At least amongst the unmarried women; I was sixteen. My uncle Linos arranged to have some traveling beastmasters bring real lamassu for my chariot, which was a sweet surprise since we normally just use oxen spelled to look like them. You can only be Her once, then next year I got to choose my successor. How do you Anshani choose?”

Nima didn’t get to answer, for the exuberant crowd swept them along. Bessa noted the crowd seemed heedless of the curfew, but Nima explained Protector Amavand temporarily lifted the curfew, in honor of the festival. Which aroused suspicion in Edana.

“Whatever his purpose in setting the curfew, he must not be able to withstand the socio-political consequences of disrupting the Everbright’s Festival. I eavesdropped on some Pelasgians talking about him, and let me tell you they resent him and his ‘jumped up restrictions.’ Passionately. The ones I overheard were taking bets on whether he’d let the festival proceed. None of them believe his stated motives for imposing limits on their freedom.”

“What did they say?” Bessa asked

“Cynical speculations about why the Protector isn’t snubbing Sorcha. They concluded he’s allowing the festival because he can’t come up with a solid excuse if the high king should call him on the carpet to explain himself. And that he wouldn’t be able to bribe this Mina Elamisi to lie for him.”

“Wait, how does she play into this?” Bessa stood on her toes to see over the crowd, for by now “Roshanak’s” chariot had passed them by. In the distance she glimpsed Mina’s gown and flowing hair billowing behind her, then the crowd surged into the avenue, cutting off any further view of her.

“About that, it turns out if you were an Anshani woman when you were crowned as Sorcha, you would have been invited to come to the high king’s palace. Here, he invites the Sorchas—the Roshanaks—from various city-states to the capital in the summer. The women then compete to be crowned the Summer Queen for the summer solstice.”

Reigning as the Summer Queen involved more than just festival revelry, she learned. The Roshanaks, as representatives of their respective vassal rulers, carried with them their satrap’s tributes and affirmations of loyalty to the shahanshah.

As they followed the crowd down the avenue Edana added, “If the protector has a schedule, let us suppose that whatever he’s up to, he does not expect to be in a position to anger his king by this coming midsummer. Or arouse questions from him.”

“Nor can he anger his people now,” Bessa said. During their exploration of the city she, too, had kept her ear to the ground. “As it is, people are questioning his loyalty to Aletheia, or Arenavachi as they call Her here. A few months back he declined to participate in Her festival, and the townspeople are still salty about it. No one believes he was really ill like he said. On top of that, he didn’t even send a representative in his place. People insist the snub means something.”

A political snare the Protector had yet to escape from.

According to Ziri’s dossier, all of the rulers in Anshan claimed divine authority from Aletheia. The shahanshah alone claimed to be directly appointed by Her, but the satraps based their authority on membership in Her priesthood. If the Protector of Elamis no longer served the Truthsayer, then by what right did he govern?

In his gentle accent Nima brought up another matter. “I heard some truth-seers conferring together earlier. They’re saying that the lamassu pulling the Lightbringer’s chariot aren’t real. They are just lions spelled to look like lamassu.”

“What does that mean?” Bessa asked.

“Where a righteous king or satrap rules, the lamassu guard the gates of his city and palace. In Elamis it was once so that lamassu guarded the gates. So it was, in the days when the protector’s father ruled. No longer is this true. The truth-seers fear the lamassu now consider Elamis as enemy territory. We should look into it.”

The women agreed. Privately, Bessa pondered over the matter, and concluded she might use the townspeople’s suspicions towards Protector Amavand as a fulcrum against him.

At last the parade came to Ember Square, and stopped.

“Ooh,” Bessa cooed.

Sometime during the day the Salamandra had transformed the market district. Fire and water dominated, with market stalls replaced by stone troughs. After every second trough came small marble fountains. High reliefs sculpted onto the troughs depicted the Everbright in various vignettes, especially in Her guise as a psychopomp—a conductor of souls to the Place of Judgment. Rather than water in the troughs, here again the Salamandra used a strange liquid which fed the eerie flames.

Fire wisp lanterns floated in the waters of the fountains. The wisps rose slowly into the air, making their way to the sky. Children ran forward to capture the them.

“For the Everbright’s blessings,” Nima explained, when Bessa asked. “To capture a wisp is good fortune; a little one will live another year.”

“Ah. At home, we give our children amulets. That sequence I mentioned, where Sorcha descends to the stage and vanquishes the Abyssal Serpent? We call that the ‘Victory Over Darkness’ sequence, and afterwards Sorcha’s priests bless the children’s amulets. To be honest I like our version better, because blessings are more concrete than catching a wisp by chance…”

She stopped, seeing an enormous platform standing in the midst of the square. With the sun having gone, the white paint and gold trim ensured the structure stood out. Gold chrysanthemums festooned the platform. In its center stood an arbor spangled with chrysanthemums, gold as well as white.

Priests of Roshanak stood in each corner of the stage, resplendent in white samite robes with stars woven through in gold thread. Each priest carried a silver bell, and smiled upon the townspeople as the crowed gathered around.

Roshanak’s chariot pulled up in front of the platform, right before the steps leading up to the arbor. Just as her feet touched the ground, the priests began ringing their silvery bells. The crowd quieted, expecting the bells signaled a forthcoming announcement.

But the priests remained silent, and moments later they heard a cranking noise. At that moment, Bessa realized the floor beneath the arbor was hollow. Someone, or something, was about to ascend from below. Another representation of the Abyssal Serpent? Or perhaps his canine minions?

Slowly, a gold diadem came into view, followed by a patrician face and the willowy frame of a man in fine raiment. The crowd hushed, staring awestruck at the figure standing beneath the arbor. He wore a splendid tunic in golden sea silk that flowed down to his ankles. Embroidered on the front of his tunic were a pair of paradox beasts, facing each other. One white, one teal, both of them had the tails of peacocks. Each had the head of a dog, and the body of a winged lion: the simurghs.

In Rasena Valentis the simurghs sometimes pulled the Restorer’s chariot. According to Bessa’s travel guides, the Anshani believed the beasts also guarded a tree that bestowed eternal life on all who drank the elixir flowing through its vines. Were Protector Amavand the high king of Anshan Bessa would have supposed he chose the simurgh motif to underscore his power and privileges. But would a petty ruler have access to the sacred trees?

“May the light forever shine upon Elamis!” Protector Amavand greeted his people, raising his hands to the sky. In his right hand he clutched a golden scepter capped with a large red crystal carved to resemble fire. Symbolic of Aletheia’s Flames of Truth. Did he intend to remind his people of his membership in Her priesthood?

The crowd pointed their glowlights at the protector before bowing, and Bessa copied their movements exactly.

“May the light forever shine upon His Majesty,” the crowd recited. Nima quickly translated for Bessa and Edana’s benefit.

Protector Amavand waited for the crowd to quiet down, smiling all the while. Next came Roshanak’s turn to speak. In a clear, bell-like voice, the young woman began the ritual litany as she ascended the steps.

“In the low places in the world and the highest places in the firmament, I watch over you all. I illuminate your path that you may not stumble, and light your way that you not fall astray. I bring to you clarity of purpose in your living days, and in Erebossa it is I who am your beacon to guide you to paradise: I am Roshanak, your Light in Darkness!”

“Roshanak” reached the top of the platform, and stood face to face now with the protector. She clasped his hand, and they jointly raised an arm above their heads.

“May the Light forever guide our protector!” Mina Elamisi shouted, and paused to allow for the cheers. Nima used the pause to complete his translations.

Protector Amavand added, “And may Your light forever guide my steps, in this world, and in Erebossa.”

When the cheers died down, he spoke again.

“My good people, my beloved people,” he began. “I stand before you now triumphant and defiant. Some time ago a prophecy foretold I would meet my end by this very night”—He waited for the crowd to gasp, and they obliged him. A few screamed, and several clasped their hands over their mouths, shocked.

When Bessa heard the translation, she clenched her jaw, tense. Angry mobs were dangerous, and Papouli had shared stories of treating horrendous injuries of people caught up in them. If Protector Amavand was about to do what she suspected, she would discover for herself what mob violence was like.

“—but here I stand,” he continued. “The prophecy said I would be murdered, by no less than three evil-doers. They are she-wolves with great malice in their hearts.” Protector Amavand turned, sweeping the crowd with hard, hawk-like eyes.

It took everything Bessa had not to shrink back when his eyes alighted on her. Did his gaze linger?

Running was not an option.

The crowd was shifting to hunting mode, eying each other with open, fierce suspicion. Hunters, four-legged and two, chased prey, fleeing prey. If she stood her ground, she would not be prey.

“Amyntas, Protector of Innocents, hear my plea and intercede in this madness,” Bessa whispered. She stole a glance at Edana.

Hold fast, Edana mouthed.

Excitable murmuring rose up from the crowd.

But Protector Amavand raised his hand, calming them once again. He smiled. “Be of good cheer, my people: the prophecy has assured me the killers are not one of us. It is no Elamisi who would dare to perpetrate such evil. So, let it not be neighbor against neighbor amongst us. Know: it is foretold the she-wolves are foreigners.”

Now the crowd had worked up to a frenzy, and those nearest to Bessa and Edana were giving them double takes. Their Rasena Valentian fashions marked them clearly as outsiders. Nima brought his hand to the dagger sheathed at his waist.

Someone in the crowd shouted, “A curse upon them! I curse them, in the name of the protector and for my protector!”

Bessa’s heart began to pound. Oh, give him his due: the protector had style. More, he was using the same ploy she had used against Duke Gagnon, except directed against her and Edana. But could he really mean to incite a bloodthirsty mob? During the Everbright’s Festival? Such an egregious desecration if so…

Protector Amavand’s smile widened in obvious satisfaction. “Know also, my people: know that no matter what happens, I am proud to be your protector. I am proud to call you my people. In the days to come, I trust you will justify my pride in you. There is to be no unseemly violence on my behalf, for that is not our way. We will not lose our way on account of these foreign she-wolves.”

Again Bessa stole a glance at Edana, who was eying the satrap with a faintly cynical expression.

Protector Amavand turned to the young woman portraying Roshanak. Though stunned, she had remained at his side the entire time. Now she stared at him in confusion as he clasped her hand once again. Jolted, she raised their joined fists once more.

“In the name of Roshanak,” she began, her voice shaky. “In the name of Roshanak the Everbright, let it be that foul deeds planned in the dark be brought to the light! The she-wolves can not hide their faces from justice. They can not hide at all, for there is no place the Light shall not find them!”

Her voice had gained strength midway through, and she finished strong and determined. Nima adroitly managed to keep up with her.

The protector’s voice was also clear and firm. “Let justice be done.”

At that moment, an otherworldly scream rang out. A dark shape circled overhead, shadowed by the lights. A large bird of prey.

It circled three times, then dove, revealing itself to be a golden eagle.

The crowd gasped again, and so did Bessa. Golden eagles were not nocturnal. To see one now could only be an omen. Would a bird sacred to the Huntress appear by chance outside of its natural time?

Quietly, she added the Huntress to her petition to thwart Protector Amavand’s scheme.

The raptor stopped its dive before the king’s face, and floated before him. She spread her golden brown wings to the full seven feet of her span, generating just enough of a breeze to lift a few strands of Bessa’s hair.

Protector Amavand screamed, as did Mina Elamisi. Though the bird blocked most of the view, Bessa could see the young woman was backing away. Did the raptor harm her?

The bird swooped up, allowing them a full view of the satrap. His hair, once beautifully coiffed, now stood in wild disarray. More, he was clutching his forehead. Bessa squinted. What was different about him? Was that blood coming from his fingers?

The raptor undulated, flying just over the crowd, forcing everyone in its path to reflexively duck down. Something shiny gleamed in its beak. The bird turned back swiftly, aiming for Protector Amavand again. Something metal clattered on the steps of the platform. Something golden and shiny. The protector of Elamis stared at it, eyes round in astonishment. Following his gaze Bessa inhaled when she recognized the object on the ground.

The diadem.

The protector’s diadem.

Once more the raptor screamed.

It flew once more to the protector, snatching his scepter and swooping upwards again. It circled high over the protector three times, light bouncing off the crystals, creating a red trail in the sky. Then it undulated, heading straight for the pseudo-lamassu that had pulled Roshanak’s chariot. It released the scepter.

Time seemed to stop as the scepter fell. Bessa could not count the beats of her heart, so transfixed was she by the fall.

The scepter landed, point first, shattering the crystal flame into a thousand pieces before the feet of the lions.

The crowd erupted then, everyone fleeing every which way. Edana grabbed Bessa’s hand, and they ran for it, Edana leading the way. Through twists and turns they fled through the streets. Deliberately Bessa refused to entertain any thought of impending doom, only focusing on escaping the wild crowd. Someone snatched at Edana’s hair, forcing her to crack her glowlight over his skull. He fell, but Edana did not slow to see it.

At first Nima kept up with them, but when a man lunged for Bessa, Nima unsheathed his knife.

“Keep running! Get away!” Nima shouted.

And so they did, keeping a relentless pace until the crowds thinned. Edana swiped a torch as they ran. The moon had already set, and they would otherwise have to run in complete darkness. Abruptly she stopped and released Bessa’s hand. Clasping her knees, Bessa gasped for air. Once she regained her breath she leaned back against a brick wall and tried to get her bearings.

By the looks of it, they stood in an alleyway. More to the point, the screams of the crowd did not reach their ears.

“A message?” she rasped.

Edana inhaled, catching her own breath as well. With a small smile she shook her head, causing shadows to flicker and jump as her torch bobbed in her hand.

“Indeed. I can’t think of any clearer message: the satrap is no servant of the truth, and by the blessings of the Huntress his reign is at an end. I’m impressed.” Mocking laughter from her made Bessa arch an eyebrow.

“Impressed by the Huntress? You?”

Edana favored her with a roguish smile. She looked around. To ordinary sight they appeared to be completely alone, but the dark hid many shadows. Coming closer she whispered,

“If you mean the greater spirit you call a goddess, no. If you mean the woman the Fire Lords instructed us to seek, yes. I suspect this is her doing. It is well played; turning the protector’s gambit against him so thoroughly. No accusation he would bring against us will be so readily believed, and if he should die he will not be presumed blameless. In the eyes of his people, he has been repudiated by the Huntress. Rejoice, for the killing ground has been well-prepared for us.”

Bessa paused, considering the idea. After a moment she, too, began to smile. Then she sobered, realizing they were alone, without Nima. Even though the satrap’s message was thwarted, it would not surprise her if the city’s watch insisted on incarcerating foreign women: “For safety’s sake, young lovelies.”

Or, the city’s watchmen might curry favor with him by finding convenient trophies to present to him: “We killed them for you, Your Majesty.”

“We can’t go to the inn,” Bessa concluded aloud. “And we’ve lost Nima.”

“We may still find sanctuary, though. Come.” Edana straightened, and turned to the end of the alley, which led to a small clearing.

Bessa was suddenly conscious of the pouch of crystals the Fire Lords had given them. The pouch she carried inside her dress, tied to an inner belt. Hidden to the eyes of any cut-purses. Four crystals which would allegedly protect against Murena.

An hour after sunrise she and Edana performed the Fire Lords’ ritual, when the dying sickle moon had been at its highest in the sky. Skepticism gave way to faith when the previously pale orange crystals now swirled with pale blue after they’d captured the moon’s light.

Her heart fluttered as she considered the consequences if they had left the crystals in the inn—if she and Edana had to flee town like thieves in the night, they would not have had a way to retrieve the crystals.

“Wait, Edana. Where are we going?”

Edana halted in the clearing. Cautious, she moved her torch arm in a wide arc, as if to reveal anyone hiding in the shadows.

“I think we should go—” She cut herself off, jolted by the same sound that made Bessa’s blood freeze in her veins. Alert, Edana’s gaze slid to their right.

From out of the darkness, amongst the trees, red eyes glared out at them.

First one pair, then another, and another, until it was clear that they were surrounded.

A howl rose up, curdling their blood and freezing their innards.

Edana plunged the torch into the ground. Without hesitation, she unsheathed her Huntress knives. Having kept Lysander’s knife at her side, Bessa readied it now. Though it lacked the same power of Edana’s knives, Bessa gambled the knife would still slit throats well enough. So long as she wasn’t against giants or anything in armor, anyway.

Even so, she wished mightily for the thunder maces they’d left in their room at the inn. Openly using the giants' weapons would give them away as being arcana, and so and Edana had decided to reserve them for a last resort.

“Do we run?” Bessa whispered.

Silence from Edana, for she was staring at her knives. The sigils on them flared white.

With a hard swallow Edana said, “My knives only glow white in the presence of an Erebossan. We need our salt.” Her hands strayed to a pouch hanging from her belt.

Halie’s salt, the holy salt. From a pouch in her satchel Bessa took a fistful of salt. As Edana turned left she turned right, and together they made a circle of a thin line of salt. It would give them a fighting chance—so long as they remained in the circle.

They finished just in time.

The red eyes came forward, into the torchlight.

Jackals!

Golden jackals, haloed with a black-red light signaling an infernal power animated them. Eidolons, who would confer an intelligence on the beasts they would not otherwise have.

Blood surged in Bessa’s veins. Screams died unvoiced in her throat. Time seemed to stand still as the jackals drew ever closer, until one leapt—

And crashed backward, as if it had hit a repulsing shield. In the blink of an eye it flipped itself upright, even as its companions met the same fate.

Intending to strike, Bessa raised her arm. To her surprise, Edana grabbed her wrist, immobilizing her.

“What?”

Edana shook her head, gesturing at the jackals with her knife. “They’re possessed. We’ll release the eidolons if we kill them.”

Bessa sucked in a breath and looked around. Malevolent eyes in every direction: they were well and truly trapped.

“What now?” she asked.

The jackals circled, pawing at the ground, but keeping well clear of the salt. They growled and howled, baring ferocious teeth.

“Someone has to be controlling them. How would jackals enter this city, fortified as it is? And these didn’t get possessed on their own,” Edana said.

Tremors rippled through Bessa’s body. Desperate, she peered into the stand of trees beyond the jackals. Gradually she realized she and Edana had come to the park via a different entrance. And parks meant cultivated trails and shrubbery, which offered a hiding place for a beastmaster.

Without warning, Edana cried out, unleashing a torrent of words in the Eitanite language. A light blinded Bessa and she turned away, covering her eyes with her arm. What was happening?

When her vision returned Bessa lowered her arm and focused on Edana. Whose moonbow-steel blades now glowed with white fire.

Now Edana moved, slashing with both knives, striking two jackals at once. The sound the beasts made stunned Bessa, rooting her to the spot. Black mist rose up from the jackals Edana had struck. Eidolons. White flames arced from Edana’s knives, unerringly seeking the mist. In just a heartbeat the mist was obliterated, dissipating as if a strong wind had blown through.

Relentless, Edana made quick work of the other jackals. Once she expelled the last fellshade the flames dimmed, allowing her to sheath the knives once more. Edana fell to her knees, letting out one profound exhale. Her hands trembled.

Bessa looked away from her. From infancy their friendship was born, and even in their nursery days Edana hated to reveal when she was upset. Usually, she would brood and ponder over a matter until she came to an emotional equilibrium. Only then would she share her thoughts with Bessa. So, Bessa warily looked over the jackals instead, pretending to check for any twitching.

“What did you do?” she asked, when she was sure Edana had regained control of herself.

“I believed,” she said. The faint smile on her face suggested she was amused with herself.

“Ah?” Bessa held out a hand, and Edana accepted, allowing Bessa to pull her up.

“Remember when we were going to Abris? Lady Nensela said I could hold fellshades at bay, too. I once frightened off an eidolon—Honoria. At the time I thought it was a coincidence. But now was as good a time as any to test Lady Nensela’s beliefs.”

Bessa paused. Though Edana had hesitated, ever so slightly, she nevertheless spoke Honoria’s name. Progress of a kind. Ever since The Ordeal, as Bessa called it, Edana never uttered the eidolon’s name if she could help it. What changed? Her gaze strayed to Edana’s knives, which still glowed softly, even through their sheaths.

You believe the Sayings.

So Lady Nensela had observed of Edana.

Perhaps then, the knives Edana wielded were not the sole power at work in destroying the jackals. Perhaps Lysander’s basilisk-slaying knife would be sufficient against Erebossi, if Bessa wielded them in the name of one of the gods. Belief in the Sower seemed to give Edana strength, and Bessa was glad of it. Even so, she wondered,

“What if you were wrong? What would the eidolons have done?”

“They would have had the other jackals to possess. There is no limit, as far as I know, as to how many fellshades may possess a single body. But we would still have been sitting like fatted calves.”

“And those words you said? Were they from the Sayings?”

“Indeed.” She eyed Bessa, frowning. “If I weren’t here—we need to find the means for you to repel Erebossi. For now, take one of my knives.” She unsheathed the knives again, and Bessa realized she’d only put them away to hide her trembling. Now the determined look on her face reminded Bessa of statues of the Huntress.

However, Bessa held up a hand. “The Reaper’s priests never taught me about Erebossi. Nothing in their hearth scrolls speak of them. I don’t think I’ll get as much use out of that knife as you know how to.”

“What do you say over blighted land? I know Lysander brought in reapers to help Abris.”

Blighted land? Her vineyard was fertile, and she had yet to need to learn how to heal land. But in stories, reapers would sometimes find ravaged, or haunted lands.

I reclaim this land for the living, they would chant, forcing the spirits to move on. Not being a priestess or a sorceress, the words alone would not be an option for her. However—

“We’ll need to visit a hearth hall,” Bessa said finally, referring to the temples of the Reaper. A glimmer of an idea had come to her, and she would need them to verify if her plan was even possible.

Edana gestured with her knife, pointing to the woods where the jackals had come from. “Tomorrow, then. Tonight, we hunt.”

In haste they doffed their chitons, revealing short tunics and long leather trousers. As Silurans, they knew the practical value of trousers and made sure to get themselves a pair when they entered Anshan. For herself Bessa had chosen a deerskin pair with a band of floral embroidery down the sides. Edana wore the same kind, but in black.

Edana strode into the trees, and Bessa followed her into the darkness without complaint. Staying in the clearing would leave them exposed. Like fatted calves, as Edana put it. The trees in the park offered refuge and hiding places.

A path wound through a heavily wooded sector thick with trees. Initially the women shied away from it. Torchstands lit the way well enough, which meant they’d once again be exposed if they traveled it. An ambush seemed all the more likely, under the circumstances.

Then they saw him.

A figure in the woods, running on the path, away from them.

Annoyed with herself, Bessa sucked her teeth. “First thing tomorrow I’ll get a sling.”

Rodrigo, one of Aurelia’s house guards, taught her and Edana how to use a sling when they were children, ostensibly so they could accompany Uncle Linos on his hunts. In practice; however, the girls only used the slings in imaginary games. Hopefully, the skill was one of those never forgotten once one mastered it.

They gave chase, keeping to the shadows as far as possible. Still wary an ambush awaited them.

Several times the man turned back. Leather mask, bronze amulet—a beastmaster, no doubt. Once only did he stop. He stared down the path, looking to and fro.

Giving Edana the opportunity she needed to close the distance.

Before he realized she was there she charged into him. In self-defense he raised his palms. Which cost him three fingers as Edana slashed down with her knife.

His scream could have awakened the dead, Bessa thought. Blood gushed from his ruined hand. Reflexively he lashed out, kicking Edana and sending her sprawling to the stone path.

Meanwhile, Bessa caught up to them. Confronted with her adversary face to face, she felt strangely apart from her body, as if she were watching everything at a distance. Thus she felt no emotion—neither pity nor excitement as she stabbed him in the side. The scream she drew from him left her unmoved. Just in time she jumped back, dodging his attempt to backhand her with his intact hand.

The beastmaster turned and resumed his flight. Frantic, he shouted words she didn’t recognize. A spell? Bessa’s heart skipped a beat. The beastmaster had likely shouted a summoning spell, calling other animals to his aid. Damn!

Terror gave her speed as she pursued him. Fast behind her came the sound of Edana’s footsteps. In the lead, Bessa reached, stretching out her hand as far as she could. Her fingers glanced off his belt.

She let out a hiss of frustration. Pain lanced her feet; the soles of her boots were too thin for running over brambles. Or stone, for that matter. On her second attempt she let her knife give her the reach she needed, and thus she sliced through his tunic and into his back.

The man stumbled, but didn’t stop. In her frenzy, Bessa didn’t hear the screeching until a shadow fell over her. From the corner of her eye she saw a ghostly white shape bearing down on her. Edana shouted a warning; Bessa lashed out with her knife. The white shape made contact with her arm. All at once searing pain shot through her, overwhelming her so much she didn’t even scream.

Something stabbed her shoulder. No matter how she ducked and whirled, her mysterious attacker held her fast. It latched on to the back of her tunic and pierced through her subarmalis, scoring her skin.

Talons, she realized.

So a bird of prey was attacking her. The creature’s breath warmed her neck as it let out a hiss, loud and harsh. Bessa jerked her knife backwards, over her shoulder. The knife struck the bird.

The riotous screech in her ears stopped her heart. Then a weight fell off her shoulder, and Bessa whirled once more, looking down to see what had attacked her. Just in time to catch two more shapes bearing down.

Owls. Ghost-face owls, their pale feathers taking on an ethereal glow in the starlight.

Silver fire lanced the sky, striking the birds before they could get within range of her knife. They didn’t even have time to screech. They fell to the ground, bouncing once and lying still after.

“He’s getting away,” Edana said, holding her knives out on either side of her body. The silvery flames hadn’t subsided yet.

Torch lamps lined this next path the beastmaster had chosen. He had managed to put a respectable distance between himself them. Nevertheless, Bessa sighed, relief blooming when when she spotted the trail of blood he’d unwittingly left for them. Let him run, they could still track him—so long as he stayed on the road.

But her relief died just as quickly: he could still speak. What other creatures might he summon to attack them?

They resumed the chase. The man ran as though Erebossi were after him. He veered left, disappearing into a valley between two slopes dotted with shrubbery.

Following his lead, Bessa and Edana jumped off the path as well. They hurried onto the right hand slope. Whatever trap he set, they refused to blunder into it.

But the man kept running. The little valley trail opened onto another clearing, where a stone tower stood. From their vantage point they caught one last glimpse of him as he slipped behind the tower’s massive oak doors.

Bessa studied the tower. Three stories tall, with a narrow window marking off each story. Light flickered from the top most window, revealing a shadowy figure moving about. In the blink of her eyes it vanished.

“A trap?” she asked. Throbbing pain drew her attention back to her arm. She gingerly cradled it, and observed for the first time the blood soaking her sleeve. The owl’s talons had opened her arm from her wrist to her elbow. In her condition, any predator the beastmaster called forth could track her with ridiculous ease.

Edana’s lips thinned as she stared straight ahead at the tower. No further movement from the top window. Likely whoever had been posted there had gone to meet the beastmaster.

Who could still summon animals to kill them.

“A trap,” Edana agreed.

Something rustled behind them. Immediately Bessa drew out her knife, her pain forgotten, and she and Edana spun around as one to confront the new threat facing them.

Her heart stopped when she saw the figure peering at them from out of the darkness. Edana gasped.

“By the Reaper,” Bessa whispered.