The Starpeaks jutted up above Thaliost as if a fiend imprisoned in the earth had pushed them upward in its struggles to escape. Senya stood on a rocky overlook at the edge of the mountains, with Arrakas d’Deneith at her elbow, never letting her stray too far. The dramatic landscape spread out below left her speechless. To the southeast, hills spread out from the mountains like ripples frozen into earth. Boulders littered the rocky ground, gathered in places into enormous cairns commemorating fallen soldiers from untold centuries of warfare. On the eastern edge of the plain, a dark forest stood out against the background of the jagged field. A chill wind blew out of the mountains at her back, moaning as it blew through gulleys and chasms in the bare rock.
It was easy to see why Aundair considered this land Aundairian soil: the only natural feature that divided the land was the Aundair River, which flowed into Scions Sound just south of the plain. But at the end of the Last War, the Thronehold Accords had established the new border between Thrane and Aundair somewhere in the middle of this plain below them, and extending on an indeterminate path through the Silver Woods beyond. By demanding that Thrane’s borders include Thaliost, the Thrane delegation to Thronehold had almost undercut the peace process. Had the memory of Cyre’s desolation not been so fresh in everyone’s memory, this plain might have seen another decade of war.
“The Starcrag Plain,” Arrakas said, gazing down with Senya onto the rocky field below them. “So just to the north—” He pointed an armored finger to the left, to the mouth of a wide valley that opened into the plain. “Bramblescar Gorge. Not too deep into that charming valley, just across the border in Aundair, we’ll find your Haldren camped and ready to launch a new war over Thaliost. We’ll reach his camp by nightfall.”
“You’re making a mistake,” Senya said. She knew her protests were futile—she had run through the same arguments at least a dozen times since Arrakas had captured her in Vathirond. “He won’t jeopardize his plans for my sake.”
“Don’t worry,” the Sentinel Marshal said, still staring at the valley. A grin touched the corner of his mouth. “You’re not the only dragon in my flight.”
Senya suppressed a shudder at the mention of dragons, though she knew the phrase simply referred to a tavern game. She wondered how much Arrakas knew about Haldren’s plans. Was he prepared to venture into that valley and come face-to-face with a real flight of dragons?
Senya found herself much less nervous about a score of dragons than she was about her inevitable encounter with Haldren.
Arrakas signaled to the half a dozen Sentinel Marshals at his command, and they started down the craggy overlook toward Bramblescar Gorge.
* * * * *
Senya’s sharp elf ears heard the pounding hoofbeats a second before any of the human Sentinel Marshals who surrounded her. She wheeled her own horse around to find their source, but two Sentinel Marshals spurred their horses toward her, anticipating an escape attempt. They wrested the reins from her hands and seized her arms before Arrakas’s sharp command cut through the din.
“Release her!” The marshals obeyed, though one kept hold of her reins. Both looked daggers at her, and Senya returned the glare. Between them, she could just make out a party of perhaps a dozen knights charging across the plain.
Arrakas had clearly seen the knights as well. “Harkas! Lucan! Give Senya her reins and turn your horses around.”
The anger on the marshals’ faces turned to surprise, and they did as their officer commanded. Senya saw the approaching knights more clearly—they wore plate armor and full helms, and carried shields and lances with the tips held high, gleaming in the sun. Their shields bore the silver arrowhead of the Silver Flame, marking them as Thranes. A regular border patrol? Or scouts from an advancing army, massing on the Thrane side of the border to face Haldren’s forces?
“Senya,” Arrakas said, “you will be silent while I talk with these knights. You will not speak without my leave. Do you understand?”
Senya nodded, even as she wondered what kind of trouble Arrakas feared from her—and how she could cause worse.
Arrakas nudged his horse forward to await the Thranes’ arrival. Senya saw him straighten his cloak, ensuring that the large brooch at his throat was clearly visible, since its chimera symbol marked him as an heir of House Deneith and a Sentinel Marshal.
The knights rode hard to meet them. The leader of the charge circled a raised hand in the air as he came to a halt, and the others spread out to encircle the intruders. When all the knights were in position, they lowered their lances in unison—all except the leader, who sat unmoving on his steed, his face covered by a full helm. Glancing around the circle at fourteen shining lances leveled in her direction, each carried by a heavily armored rider on a barded warhorse, Senya started to reconsider the idea of causing trouble.
After a few heartbeats, Arrakas gave an exasperated snort and addressed the knights’ leader. “Knights of Thrane,” he called, “I am Sentinel Marshal Arrakas d’Deneith, traveling your lands in pursuit of a fugitive. Under the provisions of the Treaty of Thronehold pertaining to the order of Sentinel Marshals, I claim safe passage.”
“With all due respect, Sentinel Marshal, as far as I am aware the Treaty of Thronehold is about to be torn to shreds. I need to ask where you are going.” The knight’s voice was muffled by his helm. Senya thought it odd that he had not removed it to speak.
“The fugitive I seek is in Aundair,” Arrakas said, “and if I find him quickly then Aundairian forces will not enter this plain.”
“So you seek General ir’Brassek,” the knight replied.
Senya raised an eyebrow. Could she be imagining that his voice sounded familiar? And why would a Thrane even know who led the Aundairian army, let alone call him General?
“Your scouts and spies are to be commended,” Arrakas said.
Senya could see that the Sentinel Marshal was as surprised as she was. She glanced at the knights on either side—their lances were still lowered, and one horse pawed the ground impatiently. This meeting would not end well.
“Six Sentinel Marshals,” the knight observed, “and one elf. Who is that, a captured fugitive?”
Arrakas shot Senya a quick glance over his shoulder. “Yes,” he answered. “She is an associate of ir’Brassek, an accomplice to his escape.”
“Did you capture her in Thrane?”
Arrakas took a deep breath before answering. “No.”
“Where, then? In Breland?”
“Yes. Vathirond.” Arrakas’s voice betrayed his frustration.
“So you have already transported her across one national border and are about to bring her across another? Has she yet stood trial?”
Arrakas drew himself to his full height, still a head shorter than the towering Thrane leader, and his horse pranced in place. His face was crimson, and Senya tried unsuccessfully to suppress a grin. The knight had caught Arrakas in an act that was questionable at best, possibly illegal even under the broad authority granted by the Treaty of Thronehold. That explained Arrakas’s nervousness at the knights’ approach, as well as his command for Senya to remain silent.
“Sir, you have detained us long enough. There is a great deal at stake here—as you yourself observed, the Treaty of Thronehold and the peace it established may soon lie in ruins. I must demand that you allow us to continue on our way.”
“I’m afraid I can’t allow that, Sentinel Marshal.”
Arrakas drew his sword, and the swords of his six marshals sprang to their hands at once. “Thrane will hear of this.”
Something about the knight’s voice as he responded jolted Senya. “I certainly hope so,” he said, and she suddenly knew where she’d heard his voice before. She threw her head back and laughed, spurring the knights flanking her to wheel on her again, and she kicked herself for not realizing sooner. What appeared to be plate armor under the tabard of the knight leader was actually the armored plating of a warforged soldier. And not just any warforged.
It was Cart.
As the surrounding knights charged, Senya leaned over and grabbed the reins of the rider on her left, pulling his horse closer. Too close for him to swing his sword. He turned in his saddle to face her, trying to free his sword arm. She brought her left hand, clenched around his reins, up into his throat. His horse reared, and Senya leaned over to grab his sword hand. She yanked the sword from his hand as the rider toppled backward out of his saddle.
Senya yanked the reins farther back, keeping the horse off balance, and it finished her work—one of its hoofs crushed the fallen man’s chest. Releasing the reins, she brought the dead man’s sword around in a wide arc to her right, just in time to block the other marshal’s sword as it sliced down toward her leg. As she found her balance in her saddle, she kicked the other horse’s flank, sending it prancing forward, carrying the rider out of reach. She sat up, wrapped her reins firmly around her hand and wrist, and took stock of the battlefield.
The Sentinel Marshals were terribly outnumbered—there had been at least two foes for each Sentinel Marshal before Senya made herself part of the equation. Still, they were hardened warriors, and they had so far acquitted themselves well against Cart’s soldiers. Four soldiers in Thrane colors lay dead or dying, one of them crushed beneath his bloodied horse. Cart was locked horse-to-horse with Arrakas: she saw him raise his axe high over his head as he pushed Arrakas away with his shield. The man Senya had unhorsed lay motionless on the ground, but he was the only Sentinel Marshal who had fallen.
The other Sentinel Marshal brought his mount under control and wheeled it around to charge her. Senya braced herself in her stirrups and kicked her horse forward to meet the charge head-on. Both horses shied at the last moment, rebelling against their riders’ evident desire to bring them into collision. Senya was thrown from her saddle and hit the ground rolling. She somersaulted away from the stamping hooves and stood again, relieved to have solid earth beneath her feet again. She was no more used to mounted combat than her horse was, bred as it was for speed and not war.
The Sentinel Marshal kept his seat and held his sword low as he charged. Senya settled into a relaxed, balanced stance and watched him come, looking for the perfect place to strike. The marshal drew his sword back as he came nearer. She waited as long as possible, then dropped to the ground, slicing her slender blade along the horse’s flank. The sword’s point traced a line of blood along the charging horse’s skin, then caught the saddle strap and cut through it. The horse screamed and bucked, sending rider and saddle flying through the air.
“What would the Valaes Tairn think of me?” Senya muttered. The warrior elves of Valenar revered their horses almost as much as they did their ancestors, and they frowned on attacking an opponent’s horse. Senya’s mind leaped back to Shae Mordai, and she was off guard when the marshal charged her again, this time on foot.
“Die,” the marshal snarled. His sword arced toward her neck, and she lifted her left arm just in time to prevent the blade from cutting deep where her neck and shoulder met. As it was, the sword cut through the leather and flesh of her arm, struck and broke bone, and lodged between the two bones of her forearm before the marshal wrenched it free. Senya felt blood spatter her face and blinked hard to clear her eyes.
“Not yet,” Senya gasped.
Her opponent reeled backward with the momentum of pulling his sword back, and she drove her own blade into his belly. He collapsed on the ground, staring blankly up at her, his face contorted in pain. She stabbed him again, in the throat, then rolled him over to stare at the ground. Dropping into a crouch beside him, she took stock of the battlefield again.
Cart and two of his men, still on horseback, ran down a Sentinel Marshal who was trying to flee on foot. Two other men in Thrane colors fought on foot against a second marshal. Otherwise, the battle was over. Senya ripped the midnight-blue cloak off the marshal she’d killed and, using her teeth and one hand, tried to rip it into bandages she could use to bind her arm. The wound was excruciating, and her right hand shook violently as she worked.
Her trembling hand slipped as she tried knotting the first bandage around her arm, sending a fresh jolt of pain from the wound. Her head grew light, and she put her right hand on the ground and lowered her head to steady herself. Just as her vision cleared, a weight settled on the back of her neck, accompanied by the gentle bite of a blade resting against her skin.
“I lost four good soldiers for you.” Cart’s voice was heavy, and his axe blade on Senya’s neck shifted as he spoke.
“You call those good soldiers?” Senya said. “They had the Sentinel Marshals outnumbered two to one, and I took out two marshals by myself. ”
“I said they were good soldiers.” Cart lifted his blade off Senya’s neck, and she pushed herself to her feet and faced him. “Not champions. It’s good to see you again, Senya.”
Senya smiled, but she had stood too quickly, and she slumped to the ground in a dead faint.