The Easy Expedition

By Moira J. Moore

The war between Aldance and Amnisa has been dragging on for three years, and it is past time Aldance put a stop to it. The Aldench have their chance when they learn that the secret to the Amnisans' endurance is their bokra grounds, a rare soil that enhances the health of soldiers, crops, and livestock. Knowing that stealing these grounds will crush the will of the enemy, the military picks a team to perform that task. Edana Carver, charismatic and brash, has never led an expedition before, but such a simple assignment is the perfect opportunity for her to gain some experience. Manis il Havoc, with the ability to crack locks and get into places she shouldn’t be, is bitter over her recent demotion, but no one doubts her intelligence. Damohn Niles, young and pretty, is a talented medic with something to prove. Frayne, the foreigner, is a wonder on the battlefield and a little too secretive. Together, they are more than capable of striking deep into the heart of Amnisa, taking what they wanted, and destroying anything that got in their way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Moira J. Moore
• Release date: Nov 22, 2016
• ISBN: 9780991797448

Moira J. Moore

Writer of fantasy, drinker of scotch, eater of chocolate, and listener of a hodge podge of music.

Book preview

Chapter One

Defeating Amnisa should have been a mere matter of marching.

Amnisa was a pathetic, weak sovereignty with no culture and no significance beyond being immediately north of the greatest sovereignty in the world. It had a tiny population, no military worth speaking of, and a history of cowardice. It should have been begging to surrender within a month.

Aldance was that greatest sovereignty in the world, with military forces feared by all and a history of subduing any who dared to oppose them. They had never lost a war, ever, and the Amnisans represented their unworthiest foes, laughable and inept.

Yet the war had lasted three years, and it could not be rationally said that it was going to end soon. It was embarrassing. Humiliating. It didn’t make sense.

Basic Grade Six Edana Carver wiped the sweat off her forehead as she forced her feet up the sharp incline. Something in her left knee shifted painfully with every step. She’d been tired before the skirmish had begun, and she had grown exhausted over the course of it. The Amnisans had the superior position at the top of an insignificant ridge, the Berring Ridge, that no one had even cared about four months prior, one that had suddenly become the bone neither sovereignty would release.

Aldance would get that damn ridge back that day if Edana had to kill every Amnisan there. She hadn’t always been that bloodthirsty, but she’d gotten furious with the Amnisans, neighbours who’d played friends and allies for generations before they lost their minds and attacked without justification.

Obnoxious little sods. They should have been grateful that Aldance had never been bored enough to take Amnisa from them. They should have just stayed home and ploughed their fields, or whatever they did in their useless little frozen sovereignty.

A red ball landed just to her left, a little orb of crackling light that struck the ground and exploded into nothing, leaving behind a small hole in the dirt. Red balls had a proper name, something with twelve syllables that Edana had never bothered to learn, but they looked like little balls of sparkling dark red, so people called them red balls. The pretty spheres could knock out structures and seriously injure or kill any person they struck.

The disadvantage of their use was that they drained the strength of the grenadiers who threw them. Most grenadiers could lob only about six in an hour.

A soldier a few paces higher up the incline fell on his face and skidded down to Edana’s feet. She pulled him up by the back of his leather harness. It was easy, which meant he was too small and light to be in the infantry.

Soles are slipping off my boots, he gasped.

Of course they were. The footwear they’d been getting was complete trash, thin leather poorly sewn. They’d all been promised new, better boots, but they’d been waiting for months with no delivery in sight.

Fortunately, the Amnisans suffered from the same problems, if the one that slipped and fell on her back was any indication. Edana charged up the hill, wrenching her knee even further. She stuck the tip of her sabre into the other woman’s side, just between her leather harness and her trousers.

The bland brown uniforms the Amnisans wore didn’t inspire any respect in anyone, not even their own people. They lacked the colours of any of the deities, a denial of that most common and basic form of worship, which was no doubt one of the reasons the deities had abandoned Amnisa. They were also hard to see against the muddy ground and in the fading light of the day. Sometimes Edana thought it might be a good idea to add some brown to the Aldench uniforms and make the colours a little less glaring.

Rabin is ours, the Amnisan gasped out.

The deity who watched over soldiers. Sure, Rabin was on the side of the invaders. The Amnisan was a deluded idiot.

Edana was an idiot, too, as only an idiot would pause to stare at the Amnisan at her feet while another Amnisan hacked into the neck of the small boy at her side. Blood sprayed into Edana’s face.

And her idiocy continued, for she couldn’t help staring at the second Amnisan. His skin was of the deepest black, uncommon in Aldance or any sovereignty near it. Both ears were pierced with rows of silver loops that would have never been permitted in the Aldench forces. His uniform was Amnisan, but he wore a red sash from his left shoulder to his right hip.

She had never seen anyone from Yavia before, but she would swear that was where he was from. What was he doing fighting with the Amnisans?

She saw the flash of a sabre, metal slashing down toward her face. She froze. This was it. She was dead.

She almost deserved it, the way her thoughts had been skittering about. What was wrong with her?

The blood-covered blade of an axe swung up, uncomfortably close to her face, before it hooked the hilt of the foreign sabre and jerked the weapon out of the grasp of the Amnisan soldier. The axe continued on its trajectory, swerved to the side, back down, then back up, and was buried into the groin of the Amnisan.

Edana had never witnessed such a manoeuvre before. It was effective and appalling.

The axe-bearer charged past her. And wasn’t he beautiful? The tallest person she’d ever seen, with pure white hair, flawless pale skin, and fantastically broad shoulders. The man from Harkid, a recent addition to their camp.

And the confidence with which he used his vicious red-handled axe? Breathtaking. It was almost a dance, the way he swung it over and under and around. It looked like he didn’t even need to see an enemy before he struck them down.

Someone of his size and strength belonged in the ranks of the grenadiers, but it might have been considered a waste of his unique skill with an axe, and perhaps he lacked the magic for it. It took more than hands to create those little balls of destruction; it needed the right words spoken with the right training and the right inborn talent.

Behind her, she heard, Put up your sabre! Have you gone mad? And then, a second voice, You’re the one stabbing at nothing!

Ah, hell. Edana awkwardly slid down to the two bickering women. Young ones, both of the rank of Basic Grade One. One woman had her sabre in a limp grasp, her attention focused on her companion. The second woman was in a more fight-ready stance, her gaze constantly moving about at the action around her.

Edana grabbed the arm of the second woman. She can’t see them. Take her to one of the medic tents.

The woman looked at her blankly. What?

Did you sleep through basic? She can’t see them. Literally. It happened all the time. Not to everyone, but in every clash there were at least a few Aldench who couldn’t see or hear the Amnisans. People were killed by sabres they never saw coming, wielded by enemies who were as good as invisible.

No one knew how the Amnisans did it, how they could move about unseen and unheard, but Edana was sure it was the only reason the weaker sovereignty had been able to hold on so long.

My grandfather said it was a myth, the alert woman insisted. Told to us to make us extra vigilant.

Has your grandfather been fighting in this war? No? I didn’t think so. Take her to a medic tent.

The alert woman clenched her jaw and put a hand on the other woman’s arm. Chevro isn’t so weak-minded as to fall for such tricks.

They didn’t have time for this. Do you know another bizarre thing Amnisans can do? They can make you forget a battle ever took place. So, if you wake up tomorrow with no recollection of this conversation, should I still have you docked for disobeying my orders? Get her to the medic tents. Now.

She didn’t linger to see if the alert woman obeyed her. She turned around and took two strides up the incline. Pain screwed through her knee. She needed a medic herself, but she couldn’t leave the field. It would be cowardly and, almost worse, it would look cowardly to others and possibly diminish their morale.

She saw the red ball the moment before it flew almost past her. Almost past. The edge of it hit her arm, right under her shoulder.

Agony erupted, sharp-toothed fire, pressing down, spreading into her chest and against her lungs, so hard she couldn’t breathe and couldn’t move.

A strange noise filled her ears, something similar to the crash of waves against rocks.

She became aware, in a distant sort of way, of dropping her sabre, of her knees buckling, of falling backward and hitting the ground.

The sky was grey. She would have preferred to die on a sunny day.

The sound of the waves faded until she heard nothing. Darkness filled her eyes. She couldn’t feel the ground against her back, arms, and legs.

And then even the pain drained away.

# # #

When Edana could think again, see again, the pain was muted, everything around her was quiet, and there was a foul taste in her mouth. Damn, she swore. Rabin.

No one quite so exalted, said a deep, soothing voice.

Relief flooded through her.

The woman sitting in the chair beside Edana’s cot was considered plain by many, thin with dull brown hair, bland green eyes, and almost yellowish skin. She also had the most fantastic jawline, firm and sharp. How could anyone see that jaw and hear that voice and think that woman was anything but beautiful?

Edana smiled. She could never settle after any engagement until she saw Basic Grade Three Empolo Mareth. Do you have any injuries?

None.

Why the reds?

Empolo wore the red linen mourning uniform that was too thin to fend off the cold and wrinkled too easily. You’ve been asleep for a couple of days. The red ball didn’t break any bones but it poisoned your blood. The medics had to drain a lot of blood out of you and decided to keep you under until you’d created some more. You’ve missed a great many funerals.

Edana’s mood slid down to the ground. How bad? She looked around her. More than three dozen wounded lay in the cots crowded into the medic tent, one tent out of three in the camp.

Nearly a hundred dead. Slightly more injured, from minor to permanently incapacitated.

Edana held back a string of oaths the patients around her didn’t need to hear. Over two hundred casualties out of slightly more than eight hundred soldiers. But we got the ridge, right?

Empolo shook her head.

Fury rose. That’s our damn ridge! This is our land!

Not right now. There are suggestions floating around that to continue throwing lives at the ridge is irresponsible. It isn’t of any real strategic importance, and stubbornness can be taken too far.

Sometimes stubbornness was all people had, stubbornness and principles. Empolo too often favoured common sense, and that, she was stubborn about. The two of them had already had a screaming fight about it, for Empolo refused to agree that the Amnisans had encroached too far into Aldench territory, that the line had to be drawn somewhere, no matter what the cost.

Over three years, Aldance had deployed nearly fifty thousand soldiers and sailors over hundreds of miles. Three years and thousands of lives wasted for scraps of territory won one week and lost the next. Trust the Amnisans to start a war that turned into a futile fiasco. No one would be singing songs about it once it was over, there would be no stories of glorious battles and heroic deeds. If they were lucky, it would be forgotten the day after the peace treaty was signed.

Edana could see it in her mind. The ridge, a mile long with an elevation of no more than fifty feet. A sharp incline on the southern side, where her people were encamped. A far longer and gentler slope on the northern side, where the cowardly Amnisans huddled. Only a mile between the two camps.

When she’d been transferred into the camp, she’d thought it was ridiculous that the two sides had been stalled for more than two months over that one tiny scrap of land. Two months later, and there they still were.

To fend off the seething frustration threatening her equilibrium, Edana changed the subject. She gestured at the sheaf of paper on Empolo’s lap. What’s all that?

My will.

That’s cheery.

I like to be prepared.

Empolo’s calm tone was a little chilling.

Edana tried to ignore it. You’re leaving everything to me, right?

What makes you think you deserve anything?

No one can make you laugh like I can.

You are very entertaining, I’ll give you that.

And my eyes are gorgeous.

I prefer blue, actually.

I beat up Lero Dale when he put paint in your hair. Ah, school days.

I could have beaten him myself.

But you wouldn’t.

I felt his father beat him enough to cover all of his sins, and the sins of a dozen others.

No one could make Edana feel so small as quick as Empolo could.

And Empolo knew it. To her credit, it wasn’t usually something she did on purpose.

I sent a note to your mother, Empolo said. It should reach her before the casualty list.

Thank you. Her mother, High Grade Fifteen Bright Carver, was a parent to be proud of, smart and disciplined and compassionate, with a long history of military brilliance. A follower of Furey, the deity of charisma and leadership, Bright could sway anyone to her cause, which was an enormous benefit to the ongoing recruitment the military so desperately needed. She was also a little overprotective. If there was a clash and Empolo didn’t write to Bright to confirm Edana’s survival, Bright would come to investigate. The last visit had been particularly embarrassing. There’d been snickers from those who had witnessed her mother physically examining Edana for injuries and chastising her for her thoughtlessness.

The patient one cot over screamed. Edana jolted upright in shock.

A medic ran to the cot and knelt beside the patient. You’re fine, he said softly. Your thigh was sliced in the last clash and you lost a lot of blood, but you’re healing well.

The patient stared at him, wide-eyed and panting. What clash? Who attacked me?

The medic put the tip of his finger on the patient’s forehead and spoke a long string of words in the medics’ language, which was incomprehensible to Edana. He sighed, You’ve forgotten.

The patient glared at him. I’m not a coward. I don’t let fear wipe my mind.

It’s not that kind of mind injury. It’s from the Amnisans.

The medics claimed there was a difference between the loss of memory due to fear and that due to Amnisan tricks, swore that they could feel it.

Oh, said the patient, relaxing.

Some people preferred to lose their memories due to the Amnisans’ spells, finding it a less dishonourable reason for memory loss. Edana couldn’t understand that. She would hate it if it happened to her. She would almost prefer to lose her memory through fear. At least that would involve nothing more than her own mind, not magic imposed upon her.

The medic turned to Edana.

He was a pretty young thing, with thick brown hair cut shorter than most medics wore, light brown skin, and warm brown eyes. He looked less than twenty. Someone his age should have still been in training.

He put his hand on Edana’s forehead and muttered a few more strings of nonsense. Then he held his hand just over the injury in her arm. You’re doing well, he told her. You’ll be fit to leave tomorrow.

Her eyebrows flew up in surprise. That soon?

You’ll need to take care with the leg, though. The knee will be delicate for at least a week.

The potentially fatal red ball injury can be healed in a few days but a wrenched knee needs over a week?

Joints are tricky.

All right then. Why haven’t I seen you before?

I usually work only with the firsts and seconds, but due to the number of casualties this time…. He gestured at all of the occupied cots around them.

Do you never leave the medics’ tents? Someone like you would have jumped into my attention. That young, that pretty? He would have stuck out like lightning in a night sky. What’s your name?

Another patient moaned, loudly, and the boy looked that way and frowned. Basic Grade Two Damohn Niles, he said in an absent-minded tone. Excuse me. He strode to the distressed patient.

He’s young to be a second, Edana mused.

He appears to be something special, said Empolo. I’ve been watching him. He’s faster than the others. He sees to more people. He takes fewer rests.

Ah, the vigour of the young.

Niles might be too good, said Empolo. There’s going to be another big push the day after tomorrow. I’d rather you weren’t in strong enough form to be a part of it.

And let you go off on your own? I don’t think so.

Empolo looked down at the papers in her lap, fiddling with the corners. Her shoulders, usually held so straight, were hunched.

What has you so low? Edana asked.

You’ve been injured a lot, recently.

No, I haven’t. Her denial shot out without her mind being involved. Then she picked through her memories. Well, there was the belly wound. That had been nasty.

And the blow to your kidneys. And the groin pull. And now your knee.

It just sounds bad because you’re naming them all off in a list like that. There have been dozens of clashes in which I wasn’t injured at all.

That didn’t seem to reassure Empolo. Is something wrong? she asked.

What do you mean?

It’s just not like you to get injured so frequently. What’s happening?

Nothing. You’re not making any sense.

Are you reaching for a promotion?

I’ve barely hit the minimum required time in sixth. To expect a promotion so soon would be unrealistic. Though a promotion would be handy. Once she was promoted to the inter ranks, it would be easier to persuade the superior officers to transfer Empolo with her. To that point, it had taken all of her blessings from Furey and some agreements she hoped no one knew about to keep Empolo with her, where Edana could keep an eye on her.

Your mother flew through the ranks without always hitting the minimum.

That was during the Reddian War. Our numbers had been decimated. And they needed - Edana cut herself off and stared at Empolo. Please tell me you aren’t thinking I’m trying to compete with my mother, or win her approval by getting myself killed.

Maybe not on purpose.

Edana laughed.

Empolo glared at her. I’m serious, ‘dana.

I know, and it’s ridiculous. You know us both. When has my mother ever disapproved of me? Other than, you know, that time I set our house on fire.

She was always proud of you, Empolo admitted. Probably even when you burnt down the house.

"I didn’t burn it down. There was a lot of stonework."

But sometimes -

She didn’t pressure me to enlist. She didn’t try to dissuade me from enlisting. She left it all up to me.

Yes, but -

And she has never expressed any disappointment with my progress.

That doesn’t mean -

Times are different. No one is rising through the ranks as she did. The chances of my ever reaching fifteenth at all are practically nonexistent.

I know, but -

And I never -

Damn it, woman! Empolo snapped. Let me finish a sentence.

Edana pressed her lips together to stop further words from coming out. She did have a hard time shutting up, sometimes.

You admit you’ve been getting injured more frequently recently, said Empolo.

It seems so. Edana ran a fingertip along the line of her jaw, searching for softness. Do you think I’m getting old? She wasn’t yet twenty-five.

Can you never give anything the gravity it’s due?

I try not to.

I do.

Yes, Empolo did. Too often. I’m not being careless, ‘polo.

Maybe not intentionally.

Not unintentionally, either. Everyone’s been getting knocked hard the last little while. But I always squeeze through. Nothing bad is going to -

Empolo put a hand over Edana’s mouth. Hush. You’ll curse yourself.

Edana licked Empolo’s palm and grinned when the other woman pulled her hand away with a grimace. I will be more careful, she promised.

Sure you will, for the next half hour or so.

I’m lucky to have someone who knows me so well. She noticed a young soldier, a first, approaching her cot. What can I do for you, little one?

The first cleared her throat. High Grade Fourteen Bevlo commands the attendance of Basic Grade Six Carver and Basic Grade Three Mareth tomorrow morning at the tenth hour.

That couldn’t be good. Bevlo didn’t like her for some unfathomable reason, and she knew he avoided her. Any idea why?

I’m afraid not, sixth.

Edana nodded. You can go. The first tapped her forehead in a salute and left. That’s not something to look forward to.

Have you indulged in any escapades without me? Empolo asked.

Would I ever do that?

You’re not always sensible.

You’re the one who always comes up with the best plans. My own work would be inferior.

Too right.

Good to have that settled. Now, how bad do you think I need to pretend to feel to get that pretty young medic to come back?

Chapter Two

Down, the voice inside her head barked, and Basic Grade One Manis il Havoc dropped to the ground, flat out on the cold, brittle grass. She held her breath as two Amnisan sentries marched by, carrying no lanterns, dressed in dark blue, nearly silent under the starry sky. Manis would have run into them if she hadn’t been warned.

The Amnisans passed.

Go.

She rose to her feet and, in a crouch, moved on.

They’ve moved the magazine to the east side.

You could have told me that earlier, Manis complained.

I just saw it.

Grumbling, Manis changed the angle of her approach to the Amnisan camp.

Go farther east. There are four more sentries coming.

This was greater vigilance than the Amnisans usually demonstrated, but Caban was never wrong. Sometimes she didn’t have information, but that which she conveyed was always accurate.

As she had so many times before, Manis wondered how she had so infuriated the deities that they had punished her with a voice inside her head, a voice that knew things she didn’t, a voice that wandered beyond Manis’ skull and perceived things she couldn’t. Manis had never heard of any other being so cursed by the deities. She had learned long ago never to ask. Not even Caban, the voice itself, could explain the phenomenon.

This is not the time to be distracted, Caban chided.

I’m perfectly aware of what I’m doing.

But she had to drop again. More sentries.

She saw, then, the reason for the extra security. A supply train, eighteen wagons long, was drawn into a circle. Fresh rations, likely clothing and ordinance. Possibly additional personnel. All things the Aldench needed.

She shouldn’t have been sent there alone. A small team of strikers would have been the wiser choice, spreading out to gather more supplies than she could carry on her own.

She shouldn’t be performing the task at all. It was beneath her.

There were dozens of new tents, and a new wooden building had been erected. Not well-built, not solid, but a sign the Amnisans planned to stay in the area for a good while longer.

Go.

She slipped through the shadows to the new building and knelt by the door. She heard the approach of another sentry and curled into a ball, relying on her slight build and dark blue garments to escape his notice. He passed without hesitation, without even glancing in her direction. Still, he passed far too close for her comfort.

This was a bad idea, Caban warned.

Manis rolled her eyes. Tardy to assert such.

I didn’t know it would be this crowded.

Manis couldn’t go back with nothing. They needed oil for the red balls and she was going to get it.

She put her hand on the thick padlock. She took a slim, short iron lock pick from the pouch on her belt and inserted it into the lock. The pick met resistance where it shouldn’t have. This lock was different from locks she had encountered before. She adjusted her angle.

You have to go.

I can’t fail.

Go go go!

Manis held an oath behind her teeth and pulled out the pick. She slid along the wall to the back of the building.

She had never returned empty-handed before. Her lack of success gnawed at her as she, with Caban’s directions and warnings, avoided the Amnisans stationed all over the ridge and returned to her own people.

The Aldench camp looked small compared to that of the Amnisans. It wasn’t right. Aldance was the superior sovereignty in all ways. Their numbers and wealth should reflect that.

She avoided the Aldench sentries as well, in no mood to interact with any more people than necessary. She went to Inter Grade Eight Gillies’ tent, one of the few illuminated from within at that time of the night. She stood by the entrance flap. Basic Grade One, she had to swallow down her resentment over the new rank, il Havoc.

Enter.

Manis ducked into the tent and saluted, standing at attention before Gillies. He was sitting in a sling chair and sipping from a glass of whiskey. You’re back early, he commented in a sour tone. Why have you nothing in your hands?

Manis held down the spark of resentment the eighth’s words roused. The Amnisans have received reinforcements and are employing many more sentries than is their custom.

How many reinforcements?

There was no opportunity to take an accurate count. There were a few dozen additional tents.

What damage did you do?

None.

Gillies snorted.

Manis wanted to ask Gillies to describe the number of times he had infiltrated an enemy encampment.

Never.

You’re supposed to be attempting to recover the trust you lost, Gillies said coolly. Not squandering your opportunities.

I understand, eighth, she said through gritted teeth.

But perhaps you’ve decided life in the forces isn’t for you.

It was not, but she had no alternatives.

Do better tomorrow.

I will, eighth.

Dismissed.

Manis saluted and left.

You forgot to tell him about their additional supplies.

Manis hesitated and considered re-entering the tent. She decided instead to casually mention, the next day, to Inter Grade Nine Kyons the arrival of the supplies, and express surprise that the ninth hadn’t been told by the eighth.

That won’t do you any favours.

Probably not. Gillies would turn it back on her. She would do it anyway. She needed her small triumphs where she could find them.

She again avoided the sentries as she went to the tent she slept in, the tent she shared with seven others. She was friends with none of them.

Because you thought yourself better than them from your first day and didn’t bother to hide it. You have learned no lessons since. And it doesn’t help that you’ve been caught sneaking about and eavesdropping on everyone.

There was no other means by which to learn anything. In her previous post, as part of the tactical and strategy corps in the Pinity camp, all information had come to her ears and eyes. In Berring, she was left ignorant.

Because you’ve acted like a prat.

Shut up.

She made no effort to be quiet as she stripped off her garments and settled on her narrow, thin bedroll. She’d seen no one else show any such consideration, so why should she?

You’re in a foul mood.

She was. Worse than usual. It was the first time she had failed since her demotion.

She lay in the darkness and listened to the snoring.

She didn’t know if she could continue to bear it.

She had nowhere else to go.

Chapter Three

High Grade Fourteen Bevlo’s tent was one of the larger ones in the camp, with a solid wooden frame and a proper door instead of a flap at the entrance. The top of Frayne’s head didn’t even brush against the ceiling, an agreeable exception to common circumstances. After years of having perfect posture whipped into him, slouching, as he was often forced to do in Aldench structures, made him not only physically uncomfortable but uneasy in his mind.

Still, the tent felt too small with six people in it, crowded into the miniscule space left by a desk, two chairs, a cot, and a large black chest. It was too hot. It was too bright, lit lanterns on every surface. Who needed that much light early in the morning? And there was a strange scent, sweet, balanced on the edge between appealing and nauseating. He’d smelled it before, but he couldn’t remember where.

Of the people in the tent, he recognized two, apart from Bevlo himself. The tall dark-skinned woman with eyes of an unusual shade of copper, casually leaning against Bevlo’s desk, was the soldier he’d protected from a sabre strike in the last clash. Her uniform, a tunic with six thin strips of black leather sewn into the right sleeve and trousers that hung a little too loose, was violet, the colour of Furey. He’d seen the pretty boy about the medic tents, and he wore blue, the colour of Sertin, the deity of medicine and empathy, two black leather strips on his right sleeve.

He had never seen the tiny, grey-eyed blonde woman. Her uniform was yellow, the colour of Windin, the deity of intellect, and against it her skin appeared an unhealthy-looking shade of pink. She, like him, bore only a single black strip of leather. He may have seen the mousey skinny woman before, and forgotten her. She wore light grey, the colour of Pronepi, deity of balance, moderation, and serenity, three strips on her sleeve.

Pronepi wasn’t a popular deity in Aldance.

Thank you for finally joining us, first, Bevlo said sarcastically.

Frayne didn’t respond. He wasn’t late.

To come straight to the point, said Bevlo, we’ve learned the Amnisans have bokra grounds.

This drew an hmm of surprise from the boy.

What are bokra grounds? the tall woman asked, sparing Frayne having to ask and risk appearing ignorant. Most people in Aldance took one look at him and assumed he was dim, and he despised confirming their unfounded beliefs.

A very rare soil, Bevlo answered. They are said to be a source of extraordinary power. We are told they make medical procedures more effective. People who consume them are hardier. When they are sown into the ground, crops are more plentiful. Fed to livestock, those animals are stronger, more productive, and breed more easily.

This is wondrous sounding stuff, said the tall woman, so why have I never heard of it?

Bevlo scowled. And you think you should have, do you?

Of course.

Then it’s fortunate you’re not in a position to decide who is to be given information. Bevlo spoke with a slight sneer. Frayne decided he didn’t like him. The last thing we need is everyone panicking after hearing the Amnisans have gained the support of Phillas. The bokra grounds are Phillas’ blessing to the Amnisans, to help them take Aldance and then move on to other sovereignties.

Aldance and Amnisa followed the same deities, so many deities that Frayne still didn’t know all of their names, but he did know that Phillas was considered evil, the deity of discord, the disruptor of tradition and loyalty.

This is why Amnisa attacked us, the blonde said. They are under the thrall of Phillas.

Bevlo nodded. We believe so. They tossed aside their allegiance to the honourable deities decades ago, and that left them vulnerable to Phillas’ influence.

That explains so much, the tall woman murmured.

It was the first Frayne had heard of Amnisa seeking dominion over sovereignties other than Aldance. It was an unrealistic goal. They lacked the military power, the people, and the resources.

We’ve been told the grounds are kept at Blake Castle, in the city of Halen, Bevlo said. That is your ultimate destination. Your primary task is to infiltrate the castle and gather a sample of the soil, and then poison the rest. Searing red sap will do. He pushed forward on his desk a jar made out of brass, as high as Frayne’s hand was long, its width the size of his palm. It was engraved with long, waving grooves. The sight of it instilled in Frayne an odd sense of tranquility, though the smell of its polish was almost overpowering. You’ll carry the grounds in this.

Neither handy nor discreet, the tall woman objected.

It is said to carry bokra grounds in anything other than brass will drain them of their potency, said the boy.

This jar is from Meridan City, said Bevlo. "It was blessed by a priestess of Pronepi. It is said that the grounds can be too powerful for some to manage, can cause emotional discord in the bearer. The serenity