Foxfire

FAELIA LAY BELLY-DOWN in the long grass atop Black Hill, watching the shadows of clouds chase each other across the rippling grass. Between the drenching thunderstorm three nights ago and the need to stand watches day and night, none of the scouts had gotten much rest, but she was far too excited to sleep. Silly, really. It might be another full day before her father arrived.

A soft snore from her right made her glance over at Mikal. A fly buzzed perilously near his half-open mouth. She suppressed a giggle. The poor man had barely finished giving his report on the fortress at Little Falls before marching south with them. Temet had urged him to go with the main body, rather than lead a forced march to Black Hill, but Mikal took his status as acting second-in-command seriously—too seriously, she sometimes thought—and he had brushed off Temet’s concern.

Spying on Little Falls always upset him, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. Bad enough to see your childhood home sitting in the shadow of a Zherosi fortress; Mikal had the added burden of knowing his tribe had helped build it.

The discovery that Zherosi ships had arrived with reinforcements only added to Mikal’s gloom—and hers. If that part of Keirith’s vision was true, the rest might be, too.

Which was another reason sleep eluded her. Keirith didn’t seem to think Fa was in any immediate danger, but even she knew visions were difficult to interpret. She also knew her brother well enough to sense he was hiding something. When she’d pressed for details, he had reminded her that the vision might be a warning of danger, not betrayal. But his frown belied those comforting words.

“Sorig will guard your father,” Temet had assured her. “And once he’s with us, I’ll keep a bodyguard around him at all times.”

Neither of them shared their worst fear: that the traitor Keirith had Seen might be a member of their band. She hated looking at her comrades with suspicion, hated her helplessness even more. During the sleepless nights, only Temet could banish the doubts and fears that stalked her.

This was the longest they had been apart since that nightmarish flight to her village. She missed the comfort of his body, their fierce, wordless lovemaking. She had never expected to need a man so—or find one who measured up to her father.

Sometimes she wondered what it would have been like if they had met under ordinary circumstances. Would he have expected her to change from hunter to wife, to remain at home to cook and sew and bear his children? From the little he had said of his wife, that was the role she had played.

The rebellion had changed everything. Women fought alongside men. They endured the same privations and dangers, shared the same triumphs and defeats. When she allowed herself to daydream about the future, she imagined returning to her village with Temet, spending their days hunting together and their nights making love. But there were no children in that idyllic future—and certainly, no possibility of them now.

She monitored her moon times as stringently as she quelled her fears for his safety. Only once had her moon flow come late, and although it might have been due to the stress of battle or the ever-present hunger, she had purged herself with the herbs Hircha had given her. She’d been weak enough afterward to wonder if pregnancy could possibly be worse, but once the cramping and the bleeding ceased, common sense prevailed.

This war needed all her energy. She would think about the future after the Zherosi were defeated.

As she rolled her neck to relieve the ache of tension, she glimpsed Eilin’s auburn hair off to her left. Keirith had insisted that Temet allow him to join the scouting party—a measure of renewed trust in the boy. So far, he’d earned that trust. But she still kept an eye on him.

He reminded her so much of Keirith as a lad. He wasn’t much older than Keirith had been when the Zherosi had stolen him. And he had the same coloring. But it was the haunted look that sometimes flashed across his face that reminded her most of her brother.

The rebellion did that to some. Others—like Mikal—grew hardened by the violence. Perhaps she had, too.

She tensed, caught by a flash of movement in the scrub. It was probably just an animal; there was barely enough cover for a man to approach unseen, never mind a column of Zherosi warriors. The long grass on the slope of the hill rippled in the breeze. Easy to become hypnotized by its gentle swaying, but she had hunted the moors most of her life and it was easier still to notice a swath of green where the grass jerked back and forth.

She clasped Mikal’s wrist, and he woke at once. She nodded to the slope, and while he rolled over to inspect it, she turned onto her side to string her bow, hissing softly to attract the attention of the nearest sentry. The alert passed silently, until every bow was strung and every pair of eyes sought the intruders.

From the same swath of grass came the liquid purr of a wood pigeon. There were none on this grassy knoll; it was the reason they had chosen that birdcall as the signal. After a moment a man’s voice called out.

As Faelia heaved herself up, Mikal’s hand came down on her back, pushing her flat. “Could be a trap.”

“I’m going to stand up,” the hoarse voice croaked. “For mercy’s sake, don’t shoot.”

Sorig staggered to his feet, arms extended from his sides, and stood there, swaying like the grass. “If you’re there . . .” His gaze swept the hilltop. He took a step forward and fell to his knees.

She charged down the hill, with Mikal behind her. Sorig’s head came up as she approached, his face gaunt with exhaustion.

They helped Sorig up the hill. The others clustered around, grim-faced and anxious. In an agony of impatience, she waited for him to take a few swigs of water and plunge into his tale.

“We were scouting ahead when we spotted the komakh. On our way back, Iann slipped and twisted his ankle. I sent Liath on to warn Darak and got Iann to a hiding place where I thought he’d be safe. Then I made my way to the pass. The Zherosi marched in, but they never came out. I waited until the light started to go before I followed. There was no sign of a battle. No bodies. Nothing. So I figured Darak must have gotten the others away.”

“They went north,” Sorig interrupted. “At least, that’s the direction the Zherosi went. There was no point in following. And I had Iann to think about.”

Sorig’s shoulders slumped. “The young fool must have come after me. He was gone when I got back to the place I’d left him. I spent half the night searching. Finally found him near the bottom of the pass. He’d broken his neck in the fall.” He rubbed his eyes with grimy fingers. “I buried him as best I could, then headed here. I’d hoped to find Darak and the others waiting for me.”

Faelia banished the traitorous thought; if anyone could lead the recruits to safety, it was her father.

“Or else the traitor is one of our own.” Sorig silenced the chorus of denial with a violent gesture. “I’m not saying it’s true. But we can’t ignore that possibility.”

Faelia exchanged a quick glance with Mikal. Of the scouts at Black Hill, only they knew the details of Keirith’s vision; if there was a traitor among them, Temet didn’t want to warn him—or her—by allowing their suspicions to be known.

“We’d better warn Temet,” Mikal said. “And tell him the Spirit-Hunter’s . . . missing.”

Sorig shook his head. “Bad enough I couldn’t get back to help Darak. If anything should happen to you . . .” His fingers flew in the sign to avert evil.

“She might be safer with Temet,” Mikal said. “Especially if that Zherosi column is marching here.”

Before Sorig could reply, a loud hiss drew their attention. “Someone’s coming up the northeast slope,” Eilin called softly.

They snatched up their weapons and moved swiftly to their positions. Again, Faelia heard the throb of a wood pigeon. Again, a voice called out. “Don’t shoot. There are two of us.”

Faelia squeezed her eyes shut and whispered a quick prayer of thanks. The next moment, she was on her feet, screaming, “Fa! We’re here!”

He pushed himself to his feet, slow and ponderous as a bear. But a huge smile split his face and his arms came up as if to embrace her.

Half laughing, half crying, she plunged down the hill. He staggered backward as she threw herself into his arms. They lurched back and forth like drunkards, laughing at their clumsiness and from the sheer joy of seeing each other again. He was filthy and unshaven and tired—gods, she’d never seen him look so tired—but he was here, he was alive, he was safe.

“This is Kelik,” he said, belatedly introducing his companion. “And this is my daughter, Faelia.” Her father’s gaze moved past her and his smile vanished. “When did Sorig arrive?”

“Aye. Well. It would have taken them longer. They went east . . .” His voice trailed off as Mikal and Sorig clambered down the slope toward them.

Sorig pulled her father into a hard embrace. “Thank the gods,” he kept saying as he thumped Fa on the back.

Anyone watching would have believed that exhaustion alone tempered the enthusiasm of Fa’s greeting. But Faelia had noted the tension in his body as Sorig approached, the sudden blankness of his expression before the smile returned.

“Gods, I’m a fool,” Sorig said. “You look half dead and I’m keeping you standing here. Take my arm and I’ll help you up the hill.”

At her father’s nod, Kelik followed Sorig and Mikal up the hill. As soon as they were out of earshot, she asked, “What is it, Fa? What’s wrong?”

“That Sorig betrayed us.” Before she could speak, he added, “Later. They’ll want to hear my story now.” The gray eyes bore into hers with sudden fierceness. “If I’m right, we must be careful. And we must keep him close.”