Chun had never had a keen sense of direction, and he was quite certain that he’d lost his way. In Toresta, the common direction was up the mountain or down the mountain—it wasn’t as difficult to discern as these flat stretches of Zorfina with its dry ground and patchy foliage. In a sickening moment, he wondered if the Lochlan men, Paxton and Harrison, had fooled him.
“I am hungry, Baba,” his daughter said in a weak voice, calling out from his wife’s lap on the next horse.
“I know, sweet one. We all are. I’m certain we’ll find a camp soon.” But that was a lie.
“I think I see something,” Chun’s brother said. They stopped and stared at the horizon. He was right. Three black-clad figures on horseback were headed straight for them at a quick pace, sending up plumes of dust in their wake.
Chun’s heart raced. They hadn’t encountered a single soul on their journey. What if these were outlaws? More evil Lashed? Or simply haters of foreigners? Chun held an arm out to his wife and waved her back.
“Get behind me.”
His wife quickly obeyed, turning her horse, but when she faced the opposite direction she and his daughter let out screams. Chun turned to see three more figures draped in black on sleek horses, all with bows and arrows aimed at them and definitely within shooting range.
Chun shuddered and told his family, “Raise your hands in peace.” His wife, daughter, brother, and two nephews did as told. The figures slowly advanced as the other three rode up from the side.
“Torestan, jes?” one of the riders called to them. A woman.
Chun nodded and sputtered in universal Euronan, “Yes. We are peaceful.”
The people circled them, and Chun couldn’t help but take in their feminine figures, in such contrast to the male warriors in Toresta. Their hair and faces were covered in black cloth, showing only their striking, light eyes. These were them, the Zandalee. He remembered three of them from the day they’d ridden in with Paxton. He let out a ragged breath.
“I recognize you from the camp in Kalor,” the woman said. Chun nodded.
“We have been seeking you,” he said bravely.
Several of the women made hissing sounds that prickled the hairs on his neck.
“Why?” asked the same woman who’d spoken before.
“T-two men . . .” Chun swallowed. “Two Lochlan men, Lieutenant Harrison Gillfin and your traveling fellow, Paxton Seabolt, they sent me. The camp you saw—it is run by the one who creates the beasts and plans to attach Lochlanach. We came to warn you and seek refuge.”
The woman’s eyes enlarged. She turned to the other riders and spoke to them in Zorfinan, translating. Several murmured the names Harrison and Paxton. The woman looked at Chun. “How do I know you are not lying? That you are not on her side?”
He outwardly shook now. Their bows gleamed wickedly. “Paxton . . . he said he hunted with you, and that . . .” His cheeks warmed at this next part of the message; would they be angry? “And that if you give us refuge, Paxton will reward you by serving Tiern Seabolt to your sisters on a platter.”
The woman stared a moment and then threw her head back in laughter. She turned her head to translate and the women all laughed, slapping their legs and commenting to one another in Zorfinan. Chun exhaled once again.
“You are Lashed?” she asked.
“I am. And one of my nephews. The rest of my family is not.” Once again he swallowed, trying desperately to wet his dry mouth. “Please. Please do not hurt the children.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Did Paxton fail to tell you that we are not monsters?”
“No. No, I’m very sorry. I meant no offense. I speak foolishly when I’m afraid.”
The woman moved closer. “Why did you leave the Rocato woman’s camp?”
“Sh-she wanted us to kill people. To prove we’re loyal. I could not. And Paxton wanted you to know that he believes Prince Vito is working with her. He fears they may soon attack Lochlanach.”
Zandora hissed. “We must go.” She pointed to one of the horses. “That one has gone lame during our patrol. Caught his hoof on a root. He is skittish and we need him fixed before we can proceed.”
“I can heal him,” Chun said. He wasn’t afraid of horses, and he was glad for this moment to prove himself. He climbed down and made his way carefully to the mare. Its rider dismounted and held the reins tightly while Chun calmed the animal and ran his hands deftly down its muscled legs. Within minutes, it was healed. The horse stomped its foot and whinnied. The Zandalee woman gave him a nod.
“You will come to our tribe’s land and tell me everything you know.”
“Thank you.” Chun shared smiles with his family before mounting his horse and following, filled with a zing of energy and gratitude.
Duke Gulfton’s family had owned the southernmost piece of Lochlanach waterlands for countless generations, bordering Kalor. He’d always been fair to the villagers who resided on his lands, collecting not a copper more in taxes than was necessary. He’d been loyal to King Charles and his father before him, just as Duke Gulfton’s father had been to the kings of old. He’d lived a prosperous life of respect. He never thought he’d see the day when his soul would slip into the slimy depths of the sea.
His joints creaked from traveling as he walked the sprawling overgrown lawn from his grand home to their sturdy docks. His land and everything about it was too quiet. Too empty. His home, like everywhere else in Lochlanach, had become a hopeless place with no security. A place that hardly felt like a home any longer.
Normally the duke would ask his grandson to ready the boat for him, but he hadn’t seen the boy in nearly two months. His eyes watered at the thought. Duke Gulfton’s aching legs took much longer to walk the long dock of his property than they used to. When he got to the end, he struggled to lower his boat, using all his might to crank the tight wheel until his vessel was in the water.
He climbed aboard, grasping the rail to keep from falling, and cursing all the while. Once aboard he set the sail, taking breaks to breathe. One last time, he told himself. Finally, the sails were set and he was headed south to the part of the shore where Lochlanach met Kalor. He steered the vessel until he came to the place with the statue on the shore that signaled the border. And then he turned another crank to lower the anchor.
Duke Gulfton stared toward the milky statue that he knew to be a giant sea gull carved from stone, but his old eyes could no longer make out the details. In the time of King Charles’s father, it had been given to King Kalieno of Kalor as a sign of peace.
So much for that offering. Duke Gulfton laughed drily until it became a cough that racked his entire thin frame and made him ache all over.
Moments later a much grander vessel of dark wood showed itself around the corner of land, heading directly toward him. The duke stared, his heart full of hatred. The boat slowed as it neared, and sidled up next to his, allowing dark-skinned shirtless men to tie the vessels together. Then a man stepped aboard and strode toward the duke. His hair was smooth and straight to his elbows. He wore a bright green tunic buttoned up the side, and came to stand before Duke Gulfton with his hands comfortably clasped behind his back.
“My men saw your signal of smoke from your chimney. What news have you, old sir?”
Duke Gulfton wanted nothing more than to bash this man’s head with his cane. Instead he gritted his teeth and practically snarled.
“The princess has returned. She is at the castle now. She is opening the royal lands tomorrow and allowing Lashed to work their magic on anyone in need. They’re pulling all the troops from towns and focusing them on royal lands and the Kalorian border. That is all I know.”
The royal Kalorian lifted an eyebrow. “Indeed?”
“Aye, indeed,” the duke said gruffly. “You said once she returned that would be my last message. I’ve done my part. Now release my grandson back to me.” He held his staff tightly and gave it a single bang on the wooden deck at his feet. He’d watched as these fiends killed his son and daughter-in-law two months ago in his own home. And then they’d taken his grandson.
“You have done well, good sir. The boy shall certainly be released. Just as soon as you perform one final task.”
Duke Gulfton was stifled by the words. He wanted to crumple. “You said this was my last task!”
“Ah, but things have changed,” the Kalorian said calmly.
The duke lifted his cane, pointed it at the man’s chest, and said through gritted teeth, “I will do nothing more until I see my grandson again!”
The Kalorian shed his calmness as his eyes brimmed with annoyance. He called something in Kalorian over his shoulder. On the dark vessel, a Kalorian tribesman brought out a twelve-year-old lad, hands bound and mouth gagged. The boy’s eyes bulged when he saw Duke Gulfton and he bent, crying and reaching for him.
Duke Gulfton lifted a hand across the expanse. His grandson! For the past month he’d begun to wonder if it was all a ruse. If they’d really killed the lad and he’d been a traitor for nothing. Seeing him now filled Duke Gulfton with a sweet waterfall of relief. The boy was all he had.
“All right,” he said weakly. “Let me have him, please. I’ll do whatever you want.”
The Kalorian man chuckled and flicked his wrist toward the tribesman. He said something and the man disappeared belowdecks with the boy again. Duke Gulfton cried out.
“You shall have him soon enough. Now listen closely.”