The constant grinding of the wagon wheels was as hypnotic as any pendulum. That singular, unchanging sound—the only constant for days. Mira had lost count of how many times she’d nodded off, time losing all sense. She sighed inwardly. Five down. Seven to go.
Trade season was in full swing as they pressed westward for the capital. The well-worn trails deepened with every plodding clop of mule hooves, but at least they weren’t alone. Traders from across Welmin and beyond made the laborious trek alongside them. Numbers alone reduced the risk of bandits—much to the knight’s chagrin. Anything would be better than the tedium of the king’s road.
“At least it’s not the Weremarch,” Echo offered at her knight’s vacant expression.
Mira couldn’t debate that. The trip to and from the Larris Marsh was a test of sanity: endless, flat plains stretching beyond the horizon. Everything blurred together in one infinite sea of grass. Each step the same as the last for hundreds of miles. It was a marvel more people didn’t lose their minds—and no wonder why so many avoided the journey altogether.
“Almonds! Fresh roasted almonds here!” came the familiar call of a traveling vendor. The same one they’d seen yesterday, and the day before that…
The knight’s nose wrinkled at their scent. If she never smelled them again, it would be too soon.
“Gettin’ late,” Healer grunted. “Best be makin’ camp soon.”
There was a heavy thunk as Mira’s head lolled back, knocking against the wagon.
“Oh, it’s not so bad, Miss Mira,” Rosalie—currently in the familiar form of a ginger tabby—purred from her straw bed. “We’ve met loads of interesting people!”
It took everything for Mira not to say, Maybe for you.
Having lived her entire life in the swamp, Rosalie was hardly the best judge of what was—or wasn’t—interesting. Every new face—or worse, new animal—the Yesha met was the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen. On the second day alone, she talked to a textile merchant about string for two hours. Not the fabric. Not the garments. String! And why? Because one was dark brown and the other was slightly less dark brown…
But as Mira sat there, a familiar sound reached her. The rhythmic thudding of boots. Lots of them.
Straightening up, her eyes narrowed on the horizon. Blue banners fluttered in the breeze. A great silver dragon in flight emblazed upon them. The Dragons of Sitri.
Wings flaring, she climbed into the seat next to Healer.
“Friends of yours?” he asked.
“My order,” she said simply.
“Well, this don’t look good.”
Echo peered over Mira’s shoulder. “Not a bit,” she agreed.
A contemplative groan rumbled from Healer. “Suppose you wanna see what’s what.”
“I must admit, I find my curiosity piqued,” said Echo. She looked to Mira. “But it’s your call, love. These matters are of your concern, not ours.”
Head bobbing shoulder-to-shoulder, Mira’s lips screwed this way and that. “Probably nothing serious,” she muttered absently. “They would’ve recalled us if it was something major, but,” she sighed, “that’s a full company.” Taking her lip in her teeth, she weighed her options to find the scales already balanced. “We’re gonna cross paths with them anyway. Might as well do it tonight. No point waiting ‘til tomorrow.”
“Right,” Healer agreed. “Best to get it over with now.”
“Ooh!” Rosalie squealed with delight as she jumped down from her straw bed and shifted back into her natural form. “New friends to make? I’ll have to make—!” Her eyes went wide as she squeezed between the zephyrni’s wings. “I don’t think I’ve enough tea for everyone…”
***
Warm oranges filled the sky as the sun began its descent. The first whiff of cooking fires wafted from the Sitrian encampment by the time they reached the tents. Mira’s stomach snarled.
Approaching the camp’s entrance, she assessed the posted guards. Sitrian regulars by the looks of them. Ruddy brown jerkins over chainmail and open faced helms bearing spears. Men at arms, not knights.
They crossed their spears.
“Halt!” said one.
“This encampment is off limits to civilians,” said the other.
Speaking the word, “Bloom,” Mira rose from the wagon. Their eyes went to the blue of her tabard, widening as they drank in the silver dragon alighting upon it. Mantling her wings, she cocked her head at them and they paled.
“The Hurricane,” the one muttered.
The other gulped. “D-Dame Mira. Please. G-Go right ahead.”
Healer guided the wagon into the camp, halting the mule team close to the entrance.
Mira dismounted. “Who’s in charge here?”
“Sir Kaelen, ma’am,” said a guard.
“Kaelen?” Mira cocked an eyebrow. “I thought he was operating up north.”
“I don’t know any of that, ma’am. Only what they tell us. We received an envoy and were dispatched. That’s all I know.”
“Right. Need-to-know basis.” She sighed. “Point me in the direction of his tent.”
“Or maybe he can just show you himself,” Kaelen’s baritone cut through the air.
Tall and barrel-chested, he was a few years Mira’s senior. Both in age and in rank. Though both knights were in errantry, word regularly returned to Sitri of his victories. Vanquished hydras, slain dragons, sieges broke at the mention of Kaelen’s approach.
But to Mira, he was simply the youngest old blowhard she’d ever met. A self-serving, aggrandized narcissist whose brain firmly resided in his pants.
Vanquished hydras? Where he only cut off the last head. Slain dragons? Never mind the other ten knights that didn’t come back with him. Sieges broken at his approach? That tended to happen when you led a force that outnumbered your enemy ten to one. Nothing untrue, only refined. Valor and glory, half-earned, half-stolen, polished until it gleamed like gold. Fool’s gold.
Worst of all was his charm. Mira couldn’t begin to guess the number of broken hearts he’d left. So many conquests. She winced at the thought that she herself nearly fell for it.
A mental shudder went through her. Thank Myria, Bart was there to tell me the truth.
“If it isn’t little Mir-Mir,” he continued in that saccharine way of his. “Surprising to see you out here after you went and called for help.”
“Called for help?” Mira’s brow furrowed. “I never called for help.”
A superior smirk curled his lip. “Oh no? So you didn’t send riders for aid for some such matter in the Larris Marsh?”
“Actually, that was me,” Echo interjected.
“My-my,” Kaelen purred. “And who might this bright winged beauty be?”
“Ech—”
“She might be Echo of Clearwater Cove,” Echo cut over Mira. “Lady of the House Zeerie, sir knight.” She fluttered down to stand by her knight’s side, bright eyes narrowing on him. “I had sent the request for aid some weeks ago. Shall I apologize for your tardiness?”
“Ho-ho,” he laughed. “I do apologize, my lady, but I’m afraid Welmin doesn’t quite have as much magical presence as your homeland. It took us time to employ enough curse breakers to field your request.”
“Duly noted,” Echo said, nonplussed. “Fortunately, Dame Mira put down the source, so I fear you’ve come so far for naught, sir knight. Now—” she clapped her hands, “where might the riders I sent be? I would like to inform them of our victory personally.”
Kaelen’s expression darkened. “Rider,” he said with finality.
Echo cocked an eyebrow. “Rider? The quarantine captain deployed seven.”
“I’m afraid, I’m the only one that made it, my lady,” came the haggard voice of a soldier.
Though his face was only passing in familiarity, he was decidedly one of the men from the quarantine blockade. Only now, he didn’t look capable of raising a dagger let alone rough riding to the other side of the kingdom.
“We were attacked, my lady,” he continued at their silence. “Beset within the day of leaving the blockade. Highwaymen, brigands out for an easy score. We were outnumbered three to one. We fought, ma’am, truly we did, but in the end—” His head fell. “I fled. Please, my lady, I beg your forgiveness for my cowardice.”
Echo brushed his cheek with her wingtip. “None is needed. There was no sense in standing and dying. Not with such an important mission upon you.” She turned to Kaelen. “Can I trust you to see this man home? He hardly seems in the condition to travel alone.”
Kaelen flashed a toothy smile. “How could I say no to such a pretty face?”
The duchess’s features betrayed nothing. “Thank you, Sir Kaelen. Now, I trust you’ve no issue giving over your tent to me this night? You’d hardly have me sleep another wink in a wagon. Wouldn’t be the chivalrous thing to do now, would it?”
“Not at all, my lady.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I’ll be happy to share my quarters.”
“Oh, how wonderful!” Mischief flashed across Echo’s features. “Did you hear him, Mira my knight? He’s no trouble allowing us to share his tent. We should make haste. He’ll want to set up in our little wagon, won’t he?”
His smile fell, replaced by absolute bewilderment. “Uh… W-What? I’m sorry, my lady, but are you implying I—”
“Switch lodgings tonight?” Echo interrupted. “But of course! You wouldn’t have a lady rest without her retinue, would you? That would hardly be proper. A woman of my station does need her knight, consult, and handmaid, doesn’t she?”
Garbled gurgles filled Kaelen’s throat as he was forced to nod his agreement.
She fluttered up. “Wonderful!” Landing, she turned to Healer and Rosalie. “You heard the man. Consult. Maid. Come along. We’ve much to discuss.”
“Here,” Healer grunted.
Kaelen had barely turned when the priest hurled his oversized bedding at him, knocking him clean off his feet.
“Don’t go messin’ ‘round with the straw bales too much,” the demigiant added, catching up to Mira and Echo in two strides. “M’lady’s got ‘em just as she likes ‘em.”
Leaping off the wagon behind him, Rosalie collapsed into herself—shrinking, compressing. Her arms spread wide, feathers sprouting in a flash. Face distending into a beak, feet transforming into talons, she flitted to Echo’s shoulder as a blue jay.
Amused squawks bubbled from her as she landed. “I didn’t know I was your handmaid, m’lady,” she chirped quietly in the zephyra noblewoman’s ear. “Shall I practice my curtsey?”
A small smirk found Echo’s lip as her wing curled loosely around Mira, but it quickly fell, replaced by a new look. One Mira was becoming increasingly, intimately familiar with: there was more. Her mistress, mind ever churning, had latched on to something they’d all missed. A part of the knight wanted to press her, but she knew better.
When Echo was ready to tell them, she would.
They wouldn’t need to wait for long.
Kaelen’s tent was easy enough to find. It was the biggest and gaudiest in the camp. Sky blue. Rich banners emblazed with his accomplishments strung from every support post. If Mira rolled her eyes any harder, they’d fall out. It was less like the campaign lodgings of an honorable knight’s and more a circus big top.
Finding their way inside, Echo wasted no time. She raised a wing, gestured with her hand, and softly incanted a spell so that their voices wouldn’t pass the flap.
“It seems this Ebon Maw keeps watch upon us,” she growled.
“What do you mean?” Rosalie chirped.
“A half-dozen armed riders beset by bandits within a day’s ride of a military blockade?” Echo shook her head. “Were that true, I don’t know if that’s simply daft or outright mad.”
“Yeah,” Mira agreed, wings rising and falling in acknowledgment. “I didn’t like when he said that either. Ambush merchants? Traders? Sure. But they’d never risk going after a team of rough riders. There’s nothing to gain.”
Healer stroked his bald chin thoughtfully. “I reckon I follow. You’re saying they weren’t no thieves. They was cultists what they met. Servants of the Maw.”
Echo sighed. “It would seem so.”
“Then our enemy’s already bigger than we knew,” he muttered.
“All the more reason to get our feathers to that bloody forest.” Echo looked to Healer. “I pray this Master Ja-Harris is such a forgotten ancient as your mistress bid we seek, pastor.”
“I know she ain’t your goddess, m’lady, but have faith.” He laid a massive hand on her shoulder. “Even if Narsis’s master ain’t the one we’re lookin’ for, her holiness is guiding us in the right direction. I can feel it.”
“In the meantime, we should rest,” said Rosalie as she expanded back into her natural shape on the table next to her. “Make use of our host’s generous hospitality.”
“Aye,” Healer agreed. “Me and Rosie’ll whip up a something to eat. Then, we should all be turning in. No sense wasting energy on shift sleeping when we got a whole army to keep watch ‘round us.”
***
Clang-Clang-Clang
The stillness of night was shattered with the peel of alarm bells.
Mira was on her feet before her eyes finished opening. Sword in hand, dressed only in her night clothes—just a lightweight, comfy tunic—she fumbled on the stand next to the bed for Charlotte’s rose brooch.
“Bloom!” she bellowed as she slammed it into her chest.
Metal plates and chain formed around her. Her tabard appeared with a sharp thwump!
“Waagh!” Echo shrieked as she fell out of bed.
“What’s with the racket!” Healer demanded as he rose.
“We’re under attack!” Mira shouted as she raced to the tent flap.
Throwing it open, she didn’t have to squint against the darkness. There was none.
Angry light blazed throughout the encampment. Fire. Not of the cooking or watch type. Tents burned. Men screamed. Horses and mules cried out. The cloying, acrid stench of smoke and burnt flesh burned her nose.
“Where!” Rosalie snarled, already in her combat form of the fearsome, saber-toothed cat.
“Everywhere!” was all Mira could say.
Kicking off the tangle of blankets that tripped her, Echo scrambled on hands and knees to join them. The duchess hurriedly incanted a spell to change from her breezy summer nightgown to a dress befitting her station.
“To arms! To arms!” the cry went up around camp.
A man in black leathers screamed from the darkness. His night-gray cloak billowing, he made for their tent. The shrill of his voice froze a squire in place. Thwack! The sickening thud of his axe felled the boy with a single stroke.
Training overtook thought. Wings spreading, Mira was out of the tent in a flap. Streaking through smoke and night, she avenged the boy with a thrust. Drawing back, she grabbed the fallen man’s axe, and lobbed it an onrushing figure in the same dark armor. He gurgled on his own blood and cried out before collapsing.
The thumping of heavy, padded feet shook the earth. Mira wheeled. Another man filled her vision, axe raised. Reflex braced her to receive the blow to her armor. She could already feel her teeth rattling. Instead, fangs bit down on his exposed throat. Rosalie’s sabers tearing it open.
Lightning crackled overhead. In the chaos, Echo took to wing. Magic coursed through her petite form as she loosed bolts of fire after jets of green light on the oncoming tide.
Healer bounded to Mira’s side. Mace at the ready, he looked to the fallen squire and gasped. Words of supplication whispered from his lips as he fell to a knee in prayer to Estoria. Flesh and bone mended together. The boy gasped as life returned to him.
“You’re alright, lad,” the go’thial priest assured him. “Stay on me. I need eyes to keep them off me whilst I work.”
“Y-Yes, your holiness,” the boy managed to stammer out.
“Stow that.” Healer shook his head. “I serve her holiness. I ain’t one me-self.”
“Enough chat,” Mira spat. “Move!”
The clashing of steel filled the encampment. Hurtling through thick, black smoke, the zephyra knight struggled to make out anything. The attack was as chaotic as sudden. No tactics. No formations. Just the undisciplined aggression of greed.
Or was it?
Swooping in to join a group of soldiers, Echo’s observation about the riders echoed in her head. No bandits would be mad enough to attack a full company of over two thousand knights, soldiers, and mages. Not unless—
“Mira!” Kaelen roared.
Swiftly claiming the head of one of the “bandits,” she banked sharply and climbed to gain vantage. Kaelen and his squires were pinned down. Despite her personal feelings, Mira couldn’t let a brother of her order fall.
Gaining a bit more altitude, she flipped over and tucked her wings to power dive. A metallic clink sounded from the joints of her wing pauldrons. She chanced a glance. Zephyra wing razors where none were before glinted in the night.
She swept through Kaelen’s attackers, wings slicing through them. Opening her wings to land, the razors shut. Her feet slammed into the ground as she turned on the spot, parrying a sword thrust away with muscle memory before slashing open another’s face.
“Looks like we got a long night ahead, Mir-Mir!” Kaelen growled as pummel struck another man.
Her nostrils flared. “Looks like, Kay-Kay.”
About the Author
A. S. Raithe is a fantasy author living near Pittsburgh with his wife and children. Always the creative type, it wasn’t until high school and being introduced to a local bestselling author that he found his passion for writing. He took time away from writing to attend college before being convinced by his wife to pick it up again shortly after their wedding. Outside of writing he enjoys exercise, baking, gardening, folklore, music, and hiking.
