17

Eastern plains of Khale

ARROW NOCKED, WINTER SUCKED in her breath and took aim. The bow had a decent draw, though it was nothing like the bow she’d once made for herself in Pranna. She missed that weapon; the curve of the wood, the strength of the draw were aspects of perfection she had worked on through countless iterations of the same object until she finally got it right.

With an exhalation, Winter loosed the arrow. Fifty rods ahead of her, a single bison within a herd of dozens flinched. In response, the entire herd took off in a gallop away from Winter’s position in the grass and the small creek around which they’d crowded. The ground trembled beneath her; there were at least a hundred bison in the herd. She watched as the animals receded into the distance.

Two bison lagged behind the rest, however, and eventually both toppled to the ground, one face-first and the other crumpling to the side, each sliding to a stop in the grass.

Winter stood, squinting in the sunlight.

“Well shot,” Urstadt said as she stood next to her.

Winter thanked Urstadt. She liked being the recipient of the warrior captain’s praise, perhaps because it came so rarely. Urstadt had been the first to admit she was no hunter—she only accompanied Winter for her protection—but Winter valued the woman’s judgment just the same.

And the truth was, it felt good to go hunting again. She had considered felling the bison with faltira, but the decision to find a bow and actually go hunting had been surprisingly easy. This was one thing for which she had never needed faltira to augment her abilities. It was something she had worked at for many years in order to become proficient.

Winter began walking towards the kill when she heard a shout in the distance behind her. She turned to see Selldor walking excitedly towards them, three horses in tow.

“That was incredible,” he said. “How did you get two at once? I only saw you fire one arrow.”

“The arrow went through the first and pierced the second,” Winter said. “But that’s only the first part of the process. We still have to field dress the kills before we take them back to camp.”

“Please, Winter, that is no task for a commander. We are not far from camp; I can come back with other tiellans who would be willing to dress the animals and bring them back.”

Winter pressed her lips together. Truth was, she hated butchering her kills. Tiellans never had much of an option— humans could hire servants for the task—but her father had always taught her that it was important to dress any animal she killed herself. Now that she thought about it, she could not remember any compelling reason behind her father’s counsel, but it was something she’d absorbed without questioning. It just felt right.

Then again, there were two large kills here. More people, and more horses, would only help.

“Bring more men and horses and meet us there,” Winter said, nodding in the direction of the fallen bison. “Urstadt and I will get started.”

About half an hour later, Winter, Urstadt, Selldor, and three other tiellans rode back to camp with the bison carcasses distributed among a few extra horses.

Windswept grassy plains surrounded her, and had for the past two days of travel. The vastness almost frightened her. No forests, hardly any hills. To the southeast she could make out the Undritch Mountains clearly, their peaks still white with snow. But even the massive mountain range did little to ground her in the plains. There was nothing out here between her and the sky. She felt as if she might fall upwards, her feet leaving the ground to tumble endlessly towards the open, cloudless expanse above. Winter had never seen land so… flat.

Two weeks had passed since the battle at Cineste’s Tiellan Gate. Now that the Rangers had horses, armor, and better weapons, they could both scout the land around them with relative ease, and make quick hunting and watering trips to provide for the main tiellan camp. The tiellans who had left Cineste had fortunately gathered a fair amount of food and supplies for the journey, but it was important to supplement and grow that reserve whenever possible. The plains, thankfully, did not lack either food or water, so far. Long-horned antelope and bison ranged the grassy land freely, and there had been many streams and creeks along the tiellan path so far. Winter counted them fortunate; she was conscious of the strain that such a large group of travelers placed on the land around them, and hoped the fortune followed them until they reached Adimora.

Now that the Rangers had horses, armor, and real weapons, they had the beginnings of a real army. During the day Winter rode with about seventy men, while the rest stayed under Ghian’s command with the main group. One of her first orders of business after taking command of the Rangers had been to open up the training courses that Ghian still ran—now under tight supervision from Urstadt—to tiellan women as well as men. Eranda had even begun training, hoping to one day ride with Winter—and Gord, who had joined up with the Rangers recently despite his age—into battle. The idea made Winter uncomfortable, but she could not very well tell Eranda no.

The order had gone over well enough; the Rangers seemed content to let Winter take charge despite the fact that she was a woman and they were a company of men, and allowing more women into their army seemed the logical next step. She imagined some of them were less than comfortable with the idea, but Urstadt was one of the greatest warriors Winter had ever seen, and if her men could not acknowledge that and consequently make themselves comfortable fighting alongside tiellan women, she had no use for them anyway.

While Winter hardly knew what to do with the new responsibility, and understood that she was really nothing more than Urstadt’s mouthpiece, she could not deny the sense of purpose the position gave her. For too long she had drifted, aimless—even before she had met Knot. For now, at least she had a clear role, unearned though it might be. Urstadt had made it clear she had no intention of taking command herself—the tiellans would not accept a human as a leader anyway—but Winter was learning a great deal from her. Perhaps, one day, she might actually grow into this role.

They had yet to cross the Undritch Mountains, let alone arrive at Adimora. After leaving Cineste their course turned southeast, passing through the forest of Takk Dusia just north of the Eastmaw Mountains. The massive Undritch range, running parallel to the smaller Eastmaws, split the eastern planes in half, and Adimora was supposed to be on the easternmost side of the mountains. It was because of the mountains that the tiellan clans hereabouts had very little contact with other people, let alone other tiellans. Winter had only met two tiellan clansmen herself, and then only briefly, as they passed through Pranna when she was a girl. She could remember her excitement at seeing them; the two men had worn their wide-brimmed araifs, of course, but the brims were wider than any Winter had ever seen, and pulled down low over their eyes. Their leather clothing had been encrusted with dust, and each carried a variety of weapons she had never seen before. They looked so exotic, so dangerous. She was looking forward to meeting more of them.

Other than a few distant riders on horseback, however, they had seen no one on the plains. The riders they had seen had kept their distance, watching from afar, then riding off to who knew where. Always one at a time, their outlines distinct on the horizon. They could be tiellan tribesmen, or human nomads. Winter had no way to be sure.

This was a world Winter had never known, had never imagined, and being here made her oddly happy—despite the maddening flatness of it all. As much as the daytime sky on the plains made Winter uneasy, she loved the nights. The millions of stars stretching out above her as she lay on her bedroll were far more comforting than the blue emptiness that gaped above her during the day. She had slept well last night, and was glad the sun was now close to setting.

When they returned to camp, Urstadt approached her after they’d dismounted and made sure their horses were taken care of. “Are you ready for your training?” Somehow, the woman had already procured two swords, and was holding one in each hand.

“We’ve only just returned,” Winter said. The tiellan camp occupied the crest of a low ridge, along one side of which a small river ran through a gulch.

“A fight is never convenient,” Urstadt said. Winter was starting to regret her request that Urstadt teach her to fight. Urstadt did not seem to think Winter was making very remarkable progress, as she monopolized every spare moment with more training.

Urstadt stabbed one of the swords into the ground, twirling the other as she walked a few paces away. She had shed her plate armor—reluctantly—while traveling on the plains in favor of boiled leather. The grasslands grew quite hot during the day, and it was almost summer. Winter’s own black leather was becoming uncomfortable on the hotter days.

Winter grasped the hilt of the sword buried in the ground, hefting it in one hand. The sword was not heavy, but it wasn’t light, either. “You’re sure I can’t train with a lighter sword?”

Urstadt scoffed. “We will train with all types of weapons, but always a standard sword first. This is the weapon you are most likely to use on a battlefield, should you lose your own.”

Winter did not argue; she did not yet have a specific sword to call her own, but she had been through this with Urstadt before. The weapon seemed particularly heavy today. Wasn’t she supposed to be getting stronger?

The hilt was made to be held with one hand, and the leather-wrapped metal fit Winter’s grip well enough. She gave the blade an experimental twirl; Urstadt did not always give her the same blade, and this was not one that Winter remembered using. On the pommel she recognized the cresting sun of Cineste; this, like most of the other swords she had used, had belonged to a Cinestean watchman.

“Take a defensive stance,” Urstadt said. “Your choice.”

Winter obliged, lifting her sword, holding her free hand out before her, and placing the majority of her weight on her back foot. Bu-tine stance, a versatile defensive beginning but not particularly strong, according to Urstadt. Winter felt comfortable with it for now. There seemed to be a sort of hierarchy of stances when it came to swordplay that Winter did not understand yet. Hopefully, in time, it would be something she would pick up.

Winter blinked. She was tired. A full day of traveling, followed by a hunt, had wiped her energy. Usually a dose of frost helped with that, but now wasn’t the time to give in to that urge.

“Now, defend yourself.” Urstadt attacked. Winter parried one strike, then another, and then Urstadt’s sword-point found her throat.

“Good,” Urstadt said. “Again.”

“How was that good?” Winter asked. “You would have killed me in seconds.”

“I’ve been training my entire life,” Urstadt said. “If I couldn’t kill you in seconds I wouldn’t be good at what I do. Again.”

Winter took the bu-tine stance again, despite Urstadt having cautioned her in the past about using the same stance over and over. Winter just wanted to get comfortable with one, then she would move on to others.

Urstadt came at her again, and this time Winter could only parry one attack before Urstadt’s sword came singing towards her face. Winter flinched, but of course Urstadt stopped the sword a few fingers away from Winter’s cheek, the blade quivering. Winter could not fathom how the woman had such control over a blade. She felt clumsy, shaky, her sword never quite doing what she wanted it to do.

“Not so good,” Urstadt said. “You lost control early. You moved with your arms when you should have moved with your feet.”

“Swordplay requires too much legwork.” Urstadt had gone over step after step with her before she had even picked up a sword, saying that every swing, every parry, needed to begin from the toes and move upwards. Winter understood that concept now, more or less, but it was difficult to put into practice when a woman twice her size and a hundred times her skill bore down on her.

“Again,” Urstadt said.

They sparred time and time again, enough for Winter to work up a solid sweat as the sun set, and for a small crowd of Rangers to draw around them. A few tiellans always took interest in her training sessions with Urstadt. She supposed just watching Urstadt helped them in their own training, run by Urstadt at separate times of the day, and in groups. But Winter herself was clearly terrible with the sword; she usually only lasted two or three strokes against Urstadt, sometimes up to five or six if she was lucky.

After a particularly long bout—Winter wasn’t sure whether she lasted six or seven strokes this time; if the latter, it would be a record for her—Winter thrust the sword into the ground and took a deep breath.

“You’re learning,” Urstadt said.

“Thanks for stating the obvious,” Winter gasped. Urstadt hardly seemed winded.

“I do not think it is obvious,” Urstadt said. “Some do not learn, especially when they are older.”

Winter raised one eyebrow. “Older?”

“You are no longer a youth,” Urstadt said, as if that explained it.

“I’ve seen only twenty-two summers.”

The sun had now set completely. The night was dark, and the stars were out. Urstadt tossed her a waterskin, and Winter took a long, gulping drink gratefully.

“Once you have mastered the basics,” Urstadt said, “you should begin to practice fighting while using telesis.”

Winter lowered the waterskin. She had not thought of faltira since beginning the training session. That seemed a good thing. “What do you know about fighting while using telesis?”

“Nothing,” Urstadt responded. “But it is a skill you cannot neglect to develop.”

True enough, Winter thought.

“Commander Winter!”

Winter made a face as she turned to face the oncoming Ranger. She hated the title the Rangers had given her, and they did not seem interested in alternative suggestions. It sounded ridiculous. “Commander Urstadt” rolled off the tongue, had a certain ring to it. “Commander Winter” was as clunky and awkward to say as Winter felt she was at the job.

The Ranger was just a few years Winter’s senior. “Riders in the distance,” he said.

“More than one?”

“Many more,” the Ranger said. “We can’t quite make out an exact count yet, but… dozens, at least.”

Winter’s heart pounded more quickly. They had not seen so many before.

“To arms,” she said. “Don’t form up yet. They may not want to fight us. But be ready.”

Winter looked to Urstadt. This would be their first encounter with the tiellan clans. Winter needed to make sure it went well, one way or another.

* * *

In moments, Winter was mounted, Urstadt on the steed next to her, watching the riders approach in the distance. Selldor waited on his horse on Winter’s other side. He had become her de facto lieutenant-of-choice. While his military prowess did not seem any greater than Winter’s, he did appear loyal, and he was certainly angry. That was an emotion Winter could channel.

Her seventy Rangers formed up behind them, mounted and armed with spears and swords. A few of them had bows, but they had very little experience using the weapons from horseback—nothing like the fabled riding archers of the tiellan clans.

Four ranks of about a dozen riders each approached. Tiellans, certainly. Winter recognized the long brown leather coats and wide-brimmed hats. It was said that, among the clans, even female tiellans wore the wide-brimmed araifs. The riders were now close enough for Winter to see the truth behind that claim. A good portion of the approaching riders were women, and all were heavily armed. Another reason for Ghian and the Druids to consider enlisting women into the Rangers.

Each rider carried a bow and arrows, a short throwing spear or two, and long curved swords.

Winter’s Rangers outnumbered the clan riders, but from all Winter had heard, the clans spent as much time warring with one another as they did doing just about anything else; every clan rider was a warrior in his or her own right. Winter’s Rangers had seen one victory in battle, but they were still green. As was Winter herself. She had her psimancy, of course, but if they could win the support of the clans without a battle, all the better.

A group of five riders broke off as the others slowed to a stop. The five continued forward, towards Winter, Urstadt, and Selldor. Winter took a frost crystal from the pouch at her belt. Better to be safe.

“May we all be blessed,” one of the clan riders said, a man, as the five neared Winter.

Winter inclined her head, unsure what to say. “Good day to you all,” she finally decided, painfully aware of how stupid she sounded. Like she was greeting a group of nobles on the street in Cineste.

The five riders exchanged glances with one another. Clearly Winter had not given the expected response.

“Under the sun and moon,” one of the riders said slowly.

The five riders did not remain still. Their horses trotted to and fro, sometimes in circles, and every once in a while one of them would move at a gallop for a moment, only to slow and return to the group.

“We are wondering why you have come to the great plains,” another rider said, this one a woman, her wide-brimmed araif pulled low over her face, long brown hair protruding beneath.

“My name is Winter. Behind me are a group of Rangers from Cineste.” She felt the dull fire of faltira beginning to take effect within her.

All five of the clan riders burst into hearty laughter at the mention of Rangers. Winter frowned. Perhaps she should not have used the word. She tried to ignore the laughter, and continued. “We have traveled east to escape the human persecution in Khale, and to seek the help of the tiellan clans.”

It took a moment for the riders’ laughter to die, but when it did, they fell quiet for a moment, their horses fidgeting and trotting distractedly. Winter wondered how they could stand it; if her horse were so restless, she would hardly be able to focus on anything else.

“You say you have come escaping the humans,” another rider said, “but you are in the company of one. Why did you bring what you are trying to escape?”

Winter glanced at Urstadt, who remained stone-faced next to her.

“Urstadt is different,” Winter said, very aware of how lame her explanation sounded. “She is my friend, and she is loyal. She has sworn to serve me.”

A few of the riders murmured at that, but Winter could not make out anything specific they said.

“Many hundreds travel behind you,” another said. “They are yours?” There did not seem to be a specific commander, at least not among these five. It was a strange dynamic; there seemed to be no order in which they spoke, and it mimicked the controlled chaos of their restless horses.

“We are part of the same group, yes.”

“And are they also Rangers?” Another round of laughter from the clan riders accompanied the question.

“Some of them, yes.” Winter could feel her face turning red. She tried to keep her breathing even. It would do no good to get angry, just as it would do her no good to be embarrassed in front of these people. What was said was said.

“And you command this army?” asked another rider.

“I do,” Winter said.

“And you wish to challenge us for control of this area?”

“No,” Winter said emphatically, “not at all. We desire your help.”

A few of the riders once again exchanged curious glances.

“You desire our help, but do not wish to challenge our power?” The brown-haired rider asked the question as if the two concepts were intertwined.

Winter glanced at Urstadt, but the woman did not return her gaze. She stared at the clan riders intently.

“We see that she does not understand our ways,” one of them said.

“Then we must teach her,” another responded.

More quickly than Winter could have imagined, the brown-haired rider drew her bow and had an arrow nocked and aimed at Winter.

A tendron burst forth from Winter, latching onto the bow, and Winter shifted the arrow’s trajectory just in time for the arrow to fire at an awkward angle, thudding lightly into the grass.

The other riders turned to look at the woman who had fired the arrow, their eyes wide in surprise. Then, they turned back to Winter, and suddenly five tiellan warriors at once were nocking arrows aimed directly for her.

Winter was ready this time, and sent tendra out to each one, plucking the bows from the hands of each rider. She kept one eye on the clan ranks in the distance, about fifty rods away, but the riders remained relatively still, watching the exchange. Winter dropped her reins and raised both hands, telling Urstadt and Selldor to give her space. They obliged, reining their horses back a few strides.

The five riders reacted quickly, reaching for spears, but Winter was ahead of them. She’d already taken each of the spears, and with one quick strike slammed the butt end of them into the faces of their respective riders. A couple fell from their horses, but they were on their feet quickly. All of them drew their swords.

Goddess, they’re just going to keep coming. She had to be more emphatic. The clanfolk had said she did not understand their ways. That much was true. But they did not have to teach her.

She would make them understand hers.

She stabbed one of the spears into the neck of the brown-haired woman. She fell, gurgling.

“I will accept your surrender whenever you wish to offer it,” Winter said loudly, her voice hard.

The clan riders looked at one another, but continued advancing on Winter, three on horseback, one on foot, all with swords drawn.

Winter attempted to drive another spear through the neck of another rider, but the man parried the thrust with his sword. He didn’t see the other spear Winter had raised behind him. Winter stabbed the weapon into his side, and he fell from his horse, groaning.

“No more of you have to fall,” Winter said.

The three remaining tiellans continued advancing, faces grim.

Winter took the swords from the dead riders with two of her tendra, and attacked the tiellans still on horseback simultaneously. They parried and fought their invisible foes, but as Winter added more tendra and weapons to the dance, both fell quickly. Now only one clanswoman remained, on foot.

“Submit to me, and this will end,” Winter said, looking down at the woman.

Slowly, the woman lowered her sword, and looked up to meet Winter’s gaze. Winter saw dark black eyes staring up at her from beneath the woman’s araif, eyes that looked very much like her own. The fabric of her siara was light, almost transparent. The woman took a step towards Winter, and both Selldor and Urstadt flinched, but restrained themselves. They both knew by now that Winter could handle herself.

The warrior took her sword in both hands, placing the flat of the blade in her palms as she raised it to Winter.

“You have defeated my four chiefs,” the woman said. “I submit myself, and my army, to your power.”

Goddess rising, you could have done that from the beginning.

“Thank you,” Winter said. “Are you a chief? What is your name?”

“I am Rorie, of the Black Hills clan.” The woman’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “And you are my chief now, Winter.”