The Arcana: Shadow Wars, Codex I

IX

The Campaign Begins

In which Edana names the target and Bessa deals in intrigues

Early the next morning, two carriage trains left the Philomelos estate, with Bessa and Edana in one, and Pippa and Lenora in the other. The girls traveled with a large escort, the women with a small one. Furthermore, Edana startled Bessa by appearing in a carriage bearing an imperial seal. When Bessa climbed aboard, Edana explained why.

“As far as anyone knows, I’m merely a silver broker and I work for important clients.”

“Isn’t that literally true?” Bessa asked, settling in amongst the cushions.

Edana smiled. “That makes it easy to remember. If I am brought before a truth-seer or an echomancer, they will certify what I say to that effect.”

“So you have taken them into account.”

Echomancers could See the past, but truth-seers were her chief concern. An alethomantis, or prophet of truth, belonged to Aletheia, goddess of truth, and could unerringly uncover any deception.

A truth-seer such as Lord Pera often worked for the Watches or the courts, and people accused of crimes often had to face them, particularly when physical evidence was shaky. Bessa had wondered how arcanum evaded Aletheia’s servants. Now she knew.

“So when you told me to say I’m an innocent victim of an attack by giants—”

“Right. It’s true. And your plan is sound, in that if you did go before a truth-seer, to explain why we killed the traitor, no part of what you say will raise suspicions. Your actions don’t have to be explained any further, so no echomancer need get involved. Whereas, I am in no position to explain why I know certain things. I cannot get caught or openly make accusations. You are in a position that serves us both well, especially considering your plan.”

Bessa smiled, pleased that she was immediately useful to Edana.

When they entered the town, Edana asked the driver to stop when she caught sight of her old house. Bessa watched as her old friend looked over her former home with a critical eye, noting the changes. Green glass windows still graced the house. Beautiful ironwork filigree covered the windows, lending protection as well as adornment. When Edana lived there the filigree mimicked floral vines. Someone had exchanged them for geometric patterns.

A small path led from the main road to the front door, and continued on around the back. The front of the house once led to the Nuriels’ workshop. Most visitors never went beyond that point, but Bessa remembered the grand courtyard paved with gleaming blue and green tile. An artesian well served as the courtyard’s centerpiece; the well’s little geyser fascinated Bessa as a child.

The family quarters were on the other side of the courtyard; the girls had played there when they would suffer to be indoors. Until she was two, Bessa lived there as well, before Aunt Sorcha weaned her and returned Bessa to her father. In the years since, Bessa sometimes ate dinner with the Nuriels. Even now she remembered the unusual spices the Nuriels used.

“Mama always kept snapdragons in the window boxes,” Edana mused. “And we always knew we were almost here when we saw Papa’s canopy on the balcony. They always relaxed there when they finished working for the day. They would wave when they saw us coming.”

“I remember,” Bessa replied, thinking back on those times. She sighed, suddenly overcome with memories.

But memories of Aunt Sorcha in her workshop helped her fight off images of Aunt Sorcha torn to pieces by the gryphon. All the same, a tear rolled down her cheek. Pain washed over her, and she reached out to squeeze Edana’s hand.

Edana squeezed back. Quietly she said, “I pray every night that the life I live is worth the cost my parents paid to save it.”

Bessa gasped. “Edana,” she ventured. “I don’t know all of Uncle Min’da’s ways. You said his people don’t consult the dead. So I’m not sure he would want you to be weighed down like this. Your parents were good people, and you live up to how they raised you. You do honor them. Cherish what you had with them…but live for yourself.”

Edana wasn’t looking at her. All of her attention was on the house, and Bessa suspected she was hiding her tears. In silence she continued to hold Edana’s hand. Even if she wanted to let go, she couldn’t: Edana’s grip was too fierce.

Bessa nodded to herself.

Some things didn’t change.

Not until they were well beyond Falcon’s Hollow did Edana reveal their destination. And who they were going to kill.

“We’re going further north,” Bessa observed. “This is the route I take after every harvest, to visit my mother’s family. They still live in the same place their tribe lived before the Invasion.”

The Invasion, for Silurans, could only refer to the coming of the imperial legions from Rasena Valentis. Some still spoke of historical events in terms of whether something had happened before or after the empire.

“Your grandfather frightened me,” Edana said. “I was never sure he liked you, either.”

Bessa laughed, thinking of how cold and forbidding her maternal grandparents seemed—to outsiders. The Pendry family was part of the old guard, she explained. As such, they were suspicious of Rasena Valentians. For this reason, Aurelia had made sure Bessa could speak Siluran and knew the traditional customs.

“My mother’s family would be outraged whenever I spoke in Rasenan, or Pelasgian. With them you are either Siluran or Rasena Valentian. The Terebinthians? Tartessians? Pelasgians? They’re not Siluran; therefore, they’re Rasena Valentians and that’s that. But trust they will be hospitable if we see them.”

“If you like, we might stop and see them later, depending on what we learn after we reach the duke.”

Bessa jolted upright. “Duke Gagnon? Him?”

The rank of duke was given to the prime commander of the legions in an imperial province. In certain instances, the duke was also the governor. There could only be one duke in a nation, and in Silura that meant one Gaius Antonius Gagnon.

Edana’s confirmation made ice water form in the pit of Bessa’s stomach. Of course the traitor must be someone high up, a fact Bessa readily accepted. But the duke? In her plans, he was the authority she could appeal to.

One thing Bessa made sure to do before leaving was to talk to Pegasus Prime Senovara about security—and why she failed to take Edana’s dispatch more seriously.

“An official notice warned us all reports of giants were propaganda, and actions attributed to them were truly the work of rogue mercenary sorcerers. And to spread the word to everyone in our network. ... The notice also ordered us to investigate anyone claiming to know about the giants, and assume they were enemy arcana. Obviously, I was misled."

At the time Bessa used the information as leverage to requisition a squad from Senovara’s force, for the security of her vineyard. Quickly, Bessa relayed the conversation to Edana.

“Now I have an arrow for my quiver. When I tell what happened to my home, and my workers, people will ask, where was the legion? What’s the army going to do? I will use what Senovara said to stir up everyone against the duke. Are you sure it’s him?”

“Yes. The enemy mercenaries I spoke of are the Red Daggers. They take the heads and feet of their prey, as trophies. Gagnon pays them in Siluran coin.”

“How does that matter? Surely our money is used outside of Silura? There’s no law saying we have to change coins at the borders.”

“Did you forget about the echomancers? One of the Star Dragons employed one as an informant,” Edana said. “He asked her to observe three men he thought were Red Daggers. The echomancer owns a warehouse in Solaris, a major port in the Cauldron. When the suspects paid her for storage, she touched their money. That’s when she saw a vision of Duke Gagnon giving the coins to them.”

The Star Dragon learned the duke went to Sirônasse last winter, on the pretext of visiting the governor. The Red Daggers the echomancer encountered spoke with Sirônassan accents. Unfortunately, the Star Dragon was killed shortly after the echomancer’s report.

“The Duke Gagnon connection is the best lead we’ve had so far. Tracking his movements is how we’ve managed to find out more about the mercenaries. He’s going to be inspecting the new fortress in the north, at Red Pointe. That’s where we’re going. That’s where we’ll find him.”

Bessa calculated the amount of time it would take to reach the fortress. She would have to act fast.

“You keep saying we,” she pointed out. “I asked you once if you were a Star Dragon? Are you?”

“Think of me as an auxiliary,” Edana suggested. “Remember the silver markets of Valentis were intentionally debased, corrupted? Without even knowing it I upset plans cunningly wrought, and Amalu came to investigate. This is why he sought me at Lady Nensela’s house. Not long after I began helping him, Lady Nensela had her vision.”

And Star Dragons started dying.

“Amalu was the first to die. As a venator, a huntsman, he belonged to the Sparrowhawk faction. So, he dealt in secrets and intrigues, and fought by stealth and ambushes. Only we were the ones ambushed. When the fight was over the attackers lay dead, and I was unharmed ... because Amalu took the blows meant for me. He used his last breath to name our attackers: the Red Daggers. I owe them.”

Bessa shivered at her tone. “But why rely on you for this?”

“The Red Daggers have done a new thing in this world: they can track Star Dragons. But I am an outsider, and I was convinced your family could be the duke’s next target. So I insisted I be the one to trap the duke. After all, I can travel as myself, a known silver broker. The imperial seal on this carriage gives me protection; it opens doors, grants me official assistance, and loosens tongues. All in plain sight, without arousing suspicion.”

“Excellent cover,” Bessa conceded.

Glancing about, she spotted Edana’s scroll case on the seat next to her. Instead of leather hers was burnished silver, and engraved with twining vines of roses. Bessa’s lips curved. Edana had spared no effort highlighting her identity as a purveyor of elegant silver goods. No one should suspect she was anything more than what she claimed to be.

The case protected a road map, which Bessa studied. The map listed every tavern, hostel, and inn along their route, and Bessa pointed them out to Edana.

“We’re stopping at all of them,” she said.

“What? Why?”

Bessa smiled. “Our campaign against the duke starts with a round of beer.”

At each stop, Bessa told her story. The topic of giants did not require embellishment, she discovered. Her routine began with establishing the presence of traveling merchants in her audience, by introducing Edana as one. Edana in turn would ask her fellow merchants if they’d heard the reports of the giants, as she had on her way to Silura.

This question never failed to pique the interest of everyone in the room. Edana always emphasized that the giants were attacking unarmed farmers, according to what she ‘heard.’ Then Bessa would take over, and dramatically recount the night of the giants’ raid on her vineyard.

The capstone always involved Edana demonstrating the lightning weapon, which never failed to astonish and unnerve the crowd.

As Bessa predicted, everyone immediately thought of the legions posted throughout Silura, particularly the battle sorcerers. Seizing on this, she hinted someone was deceiving the army, and repeated the excuse Pegasus Prime Senovara made to her.

Next she passed along Edana’s advice about forming a mutual defense pact with neighbors. If the authorities couldn’t find their backsides with a map and a glowlight, then at least the common people could depend on each other.

Bessa also shamelessly pronounced Duke Gagnon’s name with an exaggerated Sirônassan accent: Gognonnn. This never failed to ignite a round of grievances over the fact that outsiders ruled Silura.

Indeed, the others groused, how could they possibly expect the duke to care about Silura’s safety and security? The damned foreigner was surely just passing another marker on his climb to the top, and didn’t care about Silurans at all. That was probably the real reason for the army’s confusion.

This last comment spurred Bessa to take her story to the villas she encountered as well. Anyone who owned a villa ‘knew people,’ possibly afforded an oraculum in the house, and held entertainments. Hour by hour Bessa and Edana carefully seeded, then nurtured suspicion of the duke.

But always, at every turn, Bessa went out of her way to visit any establishment where her family’s wine would be sold. Every drink menu included her family’s name, which she was certain would bolster the credibility of anyone who repeated her story.

“This is likely to reach the duke’s ears before we do,” Edana remarked, in their room at an imperial inn where they finally stopped for the night.

Since leaving Falcon’s Hollow they had traveled well over forty miles, and still must travel two more days before arriving at Red Pointe. Three if they took into account their stops to sow suspicion against the duke.

“Can he do anything about it? Gagnon will probably dismiss what he hears at first. He shouldn’t realize what we’re doing to him until it’s too late.”

Edana yawned, then began to stretch the kinks out of her back. She looked at Bessa through half-closed eyes as she reclined on her bed.

They had a room to themselves, on the second floor of the inn, and upwind from the donkeys, oxen, and horses in the courtyard. Fragrant night-blooming flowers adorned the trellises outside the window, which sufficed to keep out any unpleasant scents.

Because their lodging was an imperial inn the women enjoyed several perks, including glowlights for their room instead of oil lamps. Instead of cots they would sleep on beds. In fact, the room came with four beds, two of which flanked the lone window.

Bessa initially thought they should have chosen a smaller room. That is, until Edana dragged one of the spare beds across the door, a bar against intruders. Underscoring for Bessa the danger they faced, and disquieted her for a while.

Fortunately — and Bessa thanked the gods for this — Lady Nensela sent her battle-trained slaves to accompany Edana. In a heartbeat they could drop their soup ladles and scrub brushes and take up their weapons. As it was nighttime, those not on duty slept in the adjoining rooms, while four on duty guarded the corridor.

Trusting the door was secure, Bessa occasionally checked the window via the mirror on the vanity where she sat. She opened an enameled jar of cream, sniffing it first to ensure it was still good before rubbing it vigorously on her face. The cream, one part beeswax to three or four parts olive oil, with generous dollops of rose water, produced a nice cooling sensation on her skin.

“Let’s not assume he’s stupid,” Edana warned. “As a rule I assume everyone I deal with is my superior in wit and experience, until they prove otherwise. We will be dead very quickly if our plans depend on Gagnon being incompetent.”

Bessa laughed. “Fair enough. So, if he does work out what we’re up to?”

“Hm. We don’t know why he wants to betray the empire, so let’s start with the idea he has something to gain from the success of the giants. In his place, what would you do about the setback in your plans? And make no mistake, your survival is a setback.”

“In what way?”

Edana began to count off on her fingers. “One, you and your family are supposed to be dead, and Gagnon was supposed to control the story. The bulletin sent to Senovara, claiming rogue sorcerers were at work? All dispatches come from Duke Gagnon. Two, observe that once Senovara knew foreign enemies were in Falcon’s Hollow, she put the whole country on alert. Exactly what Gagnon didn’t want. The Star Dragons don’t know the duke’s schedule, but we all suspect he didn’t intend for everyone to know about the giants until the hour that suited him best.”

“And now?” Through the mirror, Bessa caught Edana’s roguish smile.

“Hopefully he dances to our tune. Senovara said she’d never seen anything like the lightning shooter. If you were killed, she would have suspected a khrestai or a sylph on account of the lightning. When the soldiers brag about their battle, you think they won’t emphasize they faced strange weapons that bore the power of a Primordial?”

Bessa grinned. The giants’ weapons made it impossible to keep blaming rogue sorcerers. They were undeniable proof of a foreign enemy none had ever faced before.

“The duke is in a corner now,” Edana predicted. “The Star Dragons think he meant to misdirect everyone to look to a familiar enemy, such as the Furi.”

In silence Bessa pondered this as she cleaned off her face with a warm wet towel. “So the…what should we call the weapons? Thunder maces. So they are unusual. And no one doubts our story after we demonstrate them.”

But she was less sure about the duke’s reaction. Fleeing was not an option; certainly a duke would be too nervy to not stand his ground. Riding out the gossip could be easy enough, he could merely refuse to “dignify such talk with a response.”

“In his place, I would make a great show of increasing patrols, or asking for more legions,” Bessa said. “What more would he need to do? The important thing for his purposes is to be seen to have ‘done something.’ A show of force may be all he needs to silence questions. Or so he will think.”

Edana’s eyes lit up. “I congratulate you on your tactic today, of drawing attention to the fact that Duke Gagnon is from Sirônasse. That angle didn’t occur to me. But I saw its effect on the people we spoke to.”

Bessa cheerfully pointed out a key reason she targeted the wealthier Silurans. “They’re connected and ambitious. Senovara was the only Siluran senior officer at Falcon’s Hollow, did you notice? If you were ambitious and resentful of ‘foreign rule,’ wouldn’t you seize the opportunity to stir up everyone about the lack of Silurans in higher posts? I said the duke was even more of a visible target than my family: he can be replaced. There has to be a Siluran here who would recognize the opportunity we’re creating.”

“You don’t think small,” Edana said. “Can we truly hope to overthrow him?”

“No need; the emperor will do it for us. The duke’s performance, and Silurans demanding self-rule, would give the emperor an excellent excuse to remove the duke, without giving away that we’re on to his faction.” After a moment’s hesitation she added, “I can see Senovara getting a promotion out of this. Not to the rank of duke, perhaps, but if she’s clever she can launch herself higher than she is. Everyone’s eyes will be on her as well, and the emperor must also be seen to be doing something.”

Now for bed. Bessa chose the one across from Edana, and examined it for signs of bed bugs. Satisfied, she settled in.

Long after they extinguished the glowlights, Edana lay in bed and considered the possible moves the emperor and the duke could make. She sank into the pillows she’d brought and arranged herself comfortably on her side.

Yes, Bessa was probably right, she decided. The more she thought about it, the more she quietly thanked the Great Speaker that she’d brought Bessa with her. Edana could not have hoped for a better fulcrum.

When they reached Two Rivers, Bessa directed the driver to turn at the Great Elm, an ancient tree she always used as a landmark.

“Grandfather Pendry is a direct descendant of King Cunobarrus, and in Two Rivers that still means something. Everyone here is part of the tribe he ruled,” Bessa said. “He has influence we need.”

Edana understood. “So this is why you wanted to switch carriages?”

At the imperial inn, Bessa insisted they trade in their carriage with the imperial seal for one without markings. In this part of Silura, an imperial seal would close doors and cut them off from assistance, she explained.

“We’re in old Silura, Edana. Here, you better speak Siluran, so I hope you remember how. For some people here I’m too ‘foreign,’ especially as ‘Elisabet Bessa Philomelos’ is not a Siluran name. You have a Siluran first name, but not a Siluran face. This will confuse people.”

“I’ll leave the details to you, then,” Edana replied. “I will follow your lead.”

Two Rivers was not an ironic name; the tribe, and the capital town, was situated between the Red River and the Dark River. The capital, Belrath, sat atop a hill surrounded by stone walls. The Pendry family lived in the largest house in the capital, on a smaller hill within the walls.

It seemed to Bessa that an ocean of sheep separated her from the timber house. She gripped the window ledge and hoped the carriage driver could negotiate through the mass of woolly beasts and the winding path. Soon she spotted one of the little shepherds who worked for her family. The boy watched their progress, and as soon as he recognized Bessa he ran off.

When at last the driver came to the small shelter where the Pendry family kept their carts and carriages, Bessa breathed a sigh of relief.

As she approached the house, she saw the shepherd had beaten her to the home. Standing tall and strong in the doorway, her grandfather shaded his eyes from the glare of the sun as he spoke to the boy. With his other hand he held his walking stick. So, she had caught him before he left for the day. To her pleasure, the tanned leather boots he tucked his woolen trousers into were the same ones she’d given him on her last visit.

“What news?” came a feminine voice from inside the timber house.

“Morwenna’s girl is here,” said her grandfather, who stepped forward now and dismissed the shepherd. Bessa met him half way, bowing her head as he eyed her in curiosity.

“What?” A woman appeared in the doorway. Like her husband she wore a heather grey tunic, though hers was ankle-length, and embroidered.

“Good morning, Granny,” Bessa replied. “I am on my way north, and I thought I would stop here to visit you.”

Grandfather Pendry loomed over her and pulled her into a bear hug. The hairs of his long grey beard brushed against her forehead. As ever, his tunic carried the scent of lanolin.

“It is good to see you,” he said.

Bessa was jolted by her grandmother’s hug from behind. Finding herself wedged between her grandparents, she simply laughed in delight.

“I’ve missed you, dearie,” said Grandmother Pendry, who spun her around and kissed her cheeks. She embraced Bessa in a proper hug.

Eventually, Bessa’s grandparents released her and looked her over, their gazes soft and welcoming.

Edana watched as they fawned over their granddaughter. To her surprise, the Pendrys no longer frightened her. Perhaps it was because she was now tall enough to stand eye to eye with them, which her time in Kyanopolis told her was a true feat where Silurans were concerned.

Not only that, but she glimpsed in Grandmother Pendry what Bessa would look like as an old woman. The women shared the same facial structure, and their resemblance seemed more pronounced when they smiled.

Perhaps also it was because she could more readily see their affection for Bessa, even as the grandmother tugged at and tsked over Bessa’s chiton, carmine red for mourning, with a golden shawl draped over it. Gold represented faith that the Ever Bright guided one’s dead to paradise.

“Red and gold? So it’s true, the stories we’ve been hearing?” Grandmother Pendry asked.

“Let her come inside first, Gwen,” said Grandfather Pendry. He did a double take when Edana exited the carriage.

“This is my old friend, Edana,” Bessa said quickly. “Do you remember her? Let’s go inside. I have so much to tell you.”

Inside, Bessa’s grandmother fussed over them as she ordered her servants to set out bread, aged cheese from their sheep, and mugs of mead.

Looking around, Edana noticed the Pendrys favored cherry wood for their furniture; including the table and chairs where they sat now. All bore carvings in the intricate patterns Silurans were known for, and ironwork filigree embellished their chair backs. The degree of metalwork on display gave Edana a sudden insight into why her father had remained so long in a land so far from his own: no silversmith could feel a stranger in this country.

The Pendrys covered their walls in tapestries, with designs of interlacing vines that she understood to be tribal markings. Foxes dominated the motifs, summoning a memory of Bessa returning from a visit one year wearing a cloak lined with snow fox fur.

The Pendrys glanced curiously at Edana from time to time, and Grandfather Pendry ventured to ask where she was from.

“I was born in Falcon’s Hollow, and grew up there with Bessa,” she replied, and managed not to show her amusement.

She knew he wanted to ask, but where are you really from? She got that a lot. In Silura her accent marked her as a native, but she looked an obvious foreigner. In Kyanopolis amongst her father’s people, the exact opposite obtained.

He didn’t have a chance to pursue the matter because Grandmother Pendry asked his assistance in setting up.

Once Grandmother Pendry settled in across from them, and next to her husband, Bessa began to recount her tale of giants. Pointedly, she added that Edana saved her from them.

Now they eyed Edana with interest, and Edana smiled enigmatically in response. Bellicose queens were part of the old ways, Edana knew, and she suspected Bessa wanted them to think of that as well. At any rate, the Pendrys quickly warmed to her now that they knew she was responsible for Bessa’s continued existence.

“The giants are rampaging across the empire. Gather your neighbors, and everyone in this village. The giants aren’t finished; from what Edana told me this is exactly the type of place they like to attack.”

Grandfather Pendry reached across the table, and his strong hand engulfed her own as he held it. “You needn’t worry about us, dear. We know how to defend ourselves here. Even the Furi everyone likes to go on about never got past our line.”

He jerked his head to a shelf behind himself, and Edana noticed for the first time the gold-plated skulls lining it. She remembered then the gold skull Aurelia Philomelos had kept in her library, from the Furi chieftan she and Nikolaos Philomelos once battled. Grandfather Pendry owned six more, and she wondered how often he drank from them. Or if he enslaved any of the souls of the former owners via the infamous and forbidden arts of Siluran death priests.

“The Furi didn’t have lightning weapons,” Bessa pointed out. “I’m serious, Granddad. You need weapons that penetrate thick metal armor—at a distance. Have your sorcerers work on a defense against lightning, and practice immobilization spells. The only way to kill a giant is to behead it. And that means getting close enough for it to kill you. Please, promise me you’ll take this seriously.” Her voice rose a little, underscoring her concern.

Grandmother Pendry took Bessa’s free hand. “You can count on that, my dear. Two Rivers will be prepared to face these creatures.”

“Good. And, if I may ask, do you trust your Watch?”

A delicate question, Edana realized. It occurred to her that the people of old Silura would not lightly tolerate the presence of the imperial army. She had heard that they policed their own whenever possible, and suffered the interference of the empire only when they absolutely had to.

“What do you mean?” Grandfather Pendry asked, releasing her hand.

A pause. Lowering her voice, Bessa explained what Senovara had told her. “I think she was deliberately misinformed.”

Grandfather Pendry snorted, and crossed his arms across his broad chest. “What did she expect? That they would deal fairly with one of us? Why was she even foolish enough to enter their army?”

At this point, Edana spoke up. “My father’s people would likely agree with you. My father was conscripted into the legion. None of his people ever volunteered to join, and their people were conquered into the empire long before Silura. They still want out.”

The Pendrys stared at her.

“Nevertheless,” Edana continued, “people must be protected from those who would harm them. And I think you get better protection when the guards are one of your own. Like it or not, Rasena Valentis has outposts all over Silura. It is wise to seed Silurans in those outposts, to ensure that our interests are protected.”

“Yes,” Bessa agreed. She leaned forward, nailing them to the spot with her gaze. “And you can’t have it both ways. If we don’t trust the Rasena Valentians to safeguard our interests, then we can’t sit it out in their army and government. We need to make sure we have a say in running Silura, not just our own villages. The problem isn’t that Senovara is in the Watch. The problem is that there aren’t more of her. We need more Silurans in the Watches, and that’s just to start.”

The Pendrys exchanged bemused glances with each other.

“What makes you think she was misinformed on purpose?” Grandmother Pendry asked.

Carefully, Bessa outlined their suspicions of a shadow group sowing confusion to aid the giants in their attacks on the farmers. “I want to make it clear to your Watch, and all around here, that they need to start believing that giants are in Silura. Thoroughly question any report that claims otherwise. All of you need to be on your guard.”

And now that set them to thinking, Edana saw. Their general outlook had them seeing every situation as Silura versus Rasena Valentis. Now Bessa had introduced to them the radical idea that to other people, they were Rasena Valentians, and just as much a target on those grounds as anyone actually from the nations of Rasena and Valentis.

Would it occur to them that they needed to stand shoulder to shoulder not only with their own tribe, their own village, their own country, but with every other nation in the empire as well?

Bessa knew she’d achieved success when Grandfather Pendry stood up and put his boots on.

“Come, girls. You, too, Gwen.”

“Where are you going, Feargus?” Grandmother Pendry asked, rising from her seat.

“To alert the council. Everyone needs to be prepared.”

Grandfather Pendry blew the great horn in the village square. When everyone assembled he had Bessa repeat her story about the attack. The villagers were riveted, and gasped when Edana demonstrated the thunder mace.

Grandfather Pendry took over. Quickly, he organized a watch, and decreed that all patrols must include sorcerers. He repeated Bessa’s suggestions for new armor and weaponry.

“And if at all possible, I want a way to take the head from a distance,” he added.

“The giants are intelligent,” Edana warned. “They can speak Rasenan. They might speak Siluran, too. So be careful of commands you give in their presence.”

“None of you better shout ‘step over here so the giant can fall into the trap,’” Grandfather Pendry said dryly, eliciting laughter from the villagers.

The joke eased the tension in the air, and Edana wondered if Bessa acquired her talent for working a crowd from him.

“Why must you go north?” Grandmother Pendry asked Bessa later, when they were preparing to set off again.

Grandmother Pendry was packing a wicker basket for them. Nestled in a soft napkin were a cheese wheel and bread. Next she added minced mutton pies, with their double crusts. Small wicker caskets held little cakes, with one casket containing cheesecakes glazed with honey. Cakes made with elderflower cordial filled the other casket. She placed the caskets in the greater basket. Last, she added a stoppered jug of mead.

“I can’t explain everything, Granny. I’m sorry.”

Grandmother Pendry looked up sharply at her. “This is related to the attack, isn’t it?”

“When I can I’ll tell you more, but right now I can’t. I just needed to be sure that you would be safe.”

Deliberately, Bessa had omitted from her stories that the giants specifically sought to destroy her father’s family. It would raise questions she couldn’t answer.

Grandmother Pendry’s nostrils flared, but she only said, “I want you to be safe, too. You and that girl don’t have enough guards. Even if she has that magnificent weapon.”

The sudden entrance of Grandfather Pendry’s cut off Bessa’s reply. He carried a plain box of orichalcum, and presented it to her.

“Granddad?”

“This is a bit of old Siluran magic,” he said, opening the box. Light glinted from a simple amber cabochon set in a small gold starburst.

“Sorcha’s Tear!” Grandmother Pendry gasped.

With a start, Bessa clasped her heart. How many stories had she heard of King Cunobarrus using the scrying stone for search and destroy missions of his own? But she just assumed it had been buried with him, or lost.

“In High Siluran you name your enemy. The stone will guide you to him, without fail.”

Bessa started to speak, and again Grandfather Pendry interrupted.

“I am not a fool,” he said sternly. “If these giants mean to invade, then they will need to eliminate everyone who could fight back, and anyone who would lead them. And while I have my differences with Aurelia, I know she is a leader. She’s a target. And that means you’re a target. And likely I am, too. But as you are my flesh and blood, I know that you are not about to let this attack go unanswered. Good hunting to you, my granddaughter.”