Twisted Cord: Folded Series, #2

By Tracy Eire

She lost him with a word.

The King's magic vanished in the mist.

Ora tumbles back into the life of a settled townswoman. Whatever her feelings, the snow is finally melting... and crime is booming.

She turns her eyes to the mountains and spots smoke rising from the Blue Vaults: the home of the elves known as Fates.

The Fates are true Strangers to mankind and none are more perilous than the King. Would criminals dare strike at them? And are those sometime allies of mankind faring well?

When Ora is hired into the Master of Boat's caravan headed North toward the smoke, the King reports something dark moving through the land. Ora has felt it too -- not only in the King's Halls, but in the distant North where she had a brush with death.

It left its mark.

But is it coming for her?

Yet why attack a Northern courier and Outrider Chief? It makes no sense.

But, more and more, her voice shuts down and she struggles to breathe.

Soon Ora can feel her life spinning out of her control... and into someone else's.

You'll love this Fantasy 'first contact' series, because Ora's struggle with a darkness bent on stealing her voice is scarily familiar. And the Fates believe turnabout is fair play.

Get it now!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tracy Eire
• Release date: Mar 5, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201740214

Tracy Eire

My name, Tracy, means warrior in Irish, and that's apt. I come from a much-storied island off the coast of Eastern Canada, where kids weren't handled with kid-gloves. We had the run of the place -- icebergs and all! The land, the storms, and the beliefs shaped me into a storyteller. But I'm also an avid collector of things, like dolls, books, and... ghost hunting tips. I have a background in literature and psychology, with an entirely unhealthy dollop of technology (that's run a decade now and includes Clouds of all kinds)! I paint too much and think about trivia and oddities about the same, but it all comes out on the page! I've been writing professionally for about 7 years now. You'll like my work if you're interested in near-future science fiction, ghost-stories, or kick-@$$ heroes and heroines. And if you're Street Team Strong? Let me know on my site's Contact Page! Thanks and happy reading!

Book preview

Prologue

Rain tumbled between mountain crags and painted the coastline with fingers of ice.

Northwest of Bridge Township, on the archipelago of the Winter Coast, rain lent its gravity to the bleakness that stretched in all directions. The wind blasted a scum of wet snow over everything that it touched. It seemed impossible that anything could endure in the heart of the unseasonal storm on a coast accosted by weather. No one could relish it.

Almost no one.

Miles up the incline to the fjord, Ora Buckmaster was all but camouflaged against gorse in the maelstrom. Her dark eyes, black as basalt, stared down into the cold valley whose floor was dark water dotted with ice, and her heart was blown along the wind. She knew the secret life of these lands. Like a seabird, Ora was a part of it. She ramped up the sides of the mountains and had plunged to the shores below. The tundra was her home.

Ora turned her face upwind, and then edged down to her dun Northern pony. She climbed into the saddle and tapped the blanketed side of the trail-horse. It snorted under its head-covering and picked its way ahead.

Not much longer. She told the creature and looked at the dizzying grade to her right. Somewhere close by, the valley plunged into the sea. She could feel it coming.

Normally, Ora wouldn’t have had money for the extravagance she’d used to protect this pony and herself from the elements, but the Council of Bridges Township had deep pockets. A little too deep, in some cases. And she was working for them. It had been projected to take a month to get here, and another to return, under normal steam. But she was an Outrider and proud Messenger-man out of the High North and she didn’t go by trade roads. She’d seen the goal and had drawn a straight line between Bridges and the coast, and that’s what she was doing. Over hills, plains, and mountain passes.

And here she was, early in the blue-grey dawn.

Ahead of her just under the ridge were Airic Awnson and his twin, Icari, and the slightly fractious horse behind her was Kit Steda. Yes. Behind her. She even turned to look. But Steda seemed uncanny with horses, guiding them through decisions about the footing like he’d ridden up mountains for years. She missed Redword... but given the events of early spring, it had been more important to send him to the Gelus Libri – the Cold Rooms of the Northern Hoard of books. It was there his family of fellow librarians studied the ancient tomes. If all went well with his research, he would meet her up in the low-Northern town of Bridge Township with what information he’d been able to learn about the grand Stranger race of the Blue Vaults.

The Shining Ones. The Fates. The Fata. This was a race so very old, they had many names.

She missed her best friend as she rode along the dizzying heights, but she could be patient. And Redd had work to do.

On the narrow deer-trail they reached, Steda’s horse finally decided to balk.

Airic spat into the rain and looked back at them from under the slicked hood he wore, Friend, that horse don’t like you.

She likes me fine, Steda righted the little mare again. She wants a rest and a barn.

If a horse likes you, it doesn’t generally try to throw you down a ravine. Airic demonstrated by letting go of his reins. His horse plodded onward, head-down, resigned to the cursed weather.

I told you, we get along. She just wants to stop and take shelter, and she knows I’ll listen. It’s a good idea with the weather coming in. Steda petted thick fur under the blanket along her neck, and said, I’m sorry little bird.

Airic shot him a look at that.

Ora glanced over the Township bowman behind her. Keep her moving, she said. From her travel with this man, she knew him to be honest and bright. His large, pale eyes sometimes seemed unblinking in their focus.

She’s ready for some oats in a bag.

Now she snorted, The mare said that, did she?

Steda’s glance at her was careful. She did, in fact.

And you think you talk to horses like some Rodhross man, do you? She asked.

No, his shoulders rose softly. He seemed a little embarrassed by the comparison to the so-called ‘horse-whisperers’ of the great plains, Not like they do.

Now Ora glanced at the ears of her own mare – sopping wet and laid back against the ice-rain. She remembered being young, and struggling, and callously exposed to the open winter as if the pain of it was a rite of passage. And it was. But so was mercy, in her book. Yes. Mercy was a rite of passage. Well... tell her we’ll set up soon enough.

He went back to comforting his mare. Shortly, she settled down again.

We really going to stop, Chief? Icari turned back toward her. Of the twins, he was the most gentle and thoughtful. He was also the most skillful when it came to a sword. Her band had no one else like him. His brother, Airic, glanced over his shoulder at his twin. Airic’s game was a mix of skill and brute-force. She didn’t want to wear them out, if it came down to swords today.

She didn’t want it to come to that. Not here.

They came around the edge of one peak and headed away from the fjord, down the valley floor opposite it, Priority is shelter. Said Ora. I’ll run to the coast. We’re close enough now.

Airic took exception to this, We will, right Chief? He corrected himself, Well, except for Mr. soft-paws, back talking to his horse. He’s soft between the ears too.

A clod of slushy ice hit Airic in the back of the head.

Solid aim though, Icari noted.

Well. He is a bowman. Ora thought.

It was a handful of hours before dawn when Ora led the twins out of their half-broken camp. She spared a look back down at him, where he heaved oiled leather over the tallest brush he could find, and the ponies pushed him aside to pick their way underneath. Steda wasn’t like her band. He wasn’t an Outrider. But he was keeping up. He seemed to love the outdoors, and this life, aimed at hardening the mind and body to the hardships of nature that trounced most men. He’d run for miles instead of riding, fallen, been injured, been filthy, and eaten last for weeks, and yet he’d held up.

She didn’t fear leaving him alone out here anymore.

The truth was, Steda was strong.

His arrows would be sure to protect the horses for their return. A fire would keep them warm. And the food – she looked at the Awns brothers – would be edible. Chuckling without explanation, she started off across the wind-torn lowlands, eager for a run into the seaside headwind. It, at least, was in front of the storm that was rolling in to meet it.

They were hardly discernable as they approached the tall cliffs that bordered the seashore. The valley they were in ran from a narrow pass down between mountains that abruptly crashed into the sea. The only safe means of approach was this narrowing finger of valley. It would pass between twin watchtowers cut into living stone. But there were terrifying storms in these parts, she was told, and she could see signs, as they closed in on where the valley ended, of driftwood thrown twenty and thirty feet up into the valley walls.

I don’t like this, Icari sucked a deep breath as they paused for water near where part of a shipwreck had been carelessly tossed ashore. "I want to go up, Ora."

He was from the Northern Mountains. Of course, he wanted to go up.

One rogue wave, and Steda will be asking the watchtowers why we never returned, Airic tossed the skin to his brother. He pulled a face through his scrub of beard, And why’s it so quiet?

No one answered.

She took them up. They went higher, in fact, than the towers themselves, though the climb required some skill in the near darkness. More skill than the Awns had in fact. She had to wait on them many times.

A Buckmaster, she was the best climber of the lot.

Her hands burned with cold as Ora clung to a pinnacle of stone. She hung on a section of mountain almost concave above the sea. The waves were brutal in this section of the world. Every time she’d seen them on this rocky journey, they’d been violent, and they felt even more ferocious now that she dangled above them. Spray nearly reached her, and Ora knew she would have to start the climb back up to safety before the surf became so rough her fingerholds would be slick with sea rime.

Her men sure couldn’t come out here.

But beyond the shore and lashed by brutal waves was the island she’d come to see. Little more than a wave-lashed massive of blackened granite the single building and jagged lighthouses it bared to the ocean ranked among the most feared places in the world.

The Prison of Bellerhode – the Bell Hood.

"Fires," Ora exhaled a puff of steam into the air and started to climb back up toward her men again. It was only shortly before dawn, yet the lighthouses were still and dark. There were no torches lit along the walls, and its vast furnace-light seemed... dead. She muttered, "What the Blazes is going on?"

Her brain was in an uproar as she took hold of Airic’s hand and he hoisted her up to more manageable ground. Unable to process what she had seen, she held on to the older Awns twin and panted mist. Both the boys stared into the ocean in incredulity.

Ora found her voice. Watchtowers empty?

No, Icari said quietly. And he looked grim. But... something’s wrong.

Wrong. Ora didn’t like the sound of that. We need to get out of here.

Airic exhaled a low admonition, "Let’s not draw attention and get the Fires clear."

Good thought. She sank down to a crouch when Airic released her. Truly rattled. Think you can draw the prison and the tower when we’re clear of here? Master Kessian is going to want to see it. she turned to the artist in their number, Icari, and found his gaze was locked on the ocean and battered mountain. His vantage of Bellerhode wasn’t as good as hers had been moments before.

Eventually, he said, I can.

Ora thought of where she wanted to camp, and it wasn’t within miles of this... weirdly silent place, with its derelict prison. Bellerhode, like a Keep in the North, blown out. Could that be it? Winters here were brutal. Had they lost their fire and been unable to work with wetted wood? Was that building a casket full of ice? We eat and we leave. Let’s go.

Icari glanced her way, Sure you don’t want to cross the channel and try the prison?

Now Airic gave a huff, It’s obvious something is wrong. You want to prove it’s wrong-er?

"Not a word." Icari said in return.

"Redd’s not here." Airic said between his teeth.

Now Icari grinned, I know. I just miss the big librarian lug.

We’re not crossing. This strait is famous for drownings. Ora said quietly, I’ll pass.

For a moment there was nothing more. Then the rain started up, and Airic said between his teeth. This place is giving me the abdabs, Chief.

Good enough for me, she said.

With full dawn coming, they moved like ghosts above and around watchtowers proving fire blackened in the wan light of dawn. They were also slowly awakening. The smoke of fires leaked out of gaps in the stonework flanks. They went carefully, but quickly down the valley again, and faster still, uphill outside of the zone where the ocean could punch into the shore.

Getting back to the camp, over four miles inland from the point, proved difficult. Steda had been keeping warm by hiding signs of their passage, as well as making them hard to detect. The troop had been training him in this for weeks. He whistled to them as they were about to pass him by. The shelter was scant and muddy – just an indentation in one of the rock piles – but they were quite well screened by brush. He’d taken several limbs of dry wood from the bag to start a small fire at the back of the depression.

Keep it small, Ora said as she saw the little tongues of flame in the dark. She picked up strips of dried meat and tucked one into her cheek. "Rest in shifts. Let the horses eat and recover a little. We get the blazes out of here, after everyone’s had a sleep."

"Are we running? Steda looked up at her sharply. What did you find?" He knelt in the dirt by the fire, pouring a tisane of wild berries into wooden cups. Now he eased to his feet and handed a cup to her, and one to Icari, who was first to arrive beside her.

He looked between grim faces.

Airic sipped hot tea, gratefully, Kit, there aren’t even patrols. No... no night watch-

Not now. Ora shook her head. "Focus. Sleep. Leave. Talk in safety."

Icari pushed past them for the dryness near the fire. He rooted out the sketchbook he carried, and the stub of pencil, and went to work. He transferred the disquiet onto paper in silence.

Airic rustled sea-rime out of his hair and noted a quiet. I call first watch.

Since the watchtowers, there’d hardly been any talking.

Steda withdrew to where the horses huddled, long ago asleep from their own hardship, still blanketed, and with food bags strapped to them. It was a small shelter, but not inconsiderate. Steda collapsed with sleep among the steaming horses. Smart Townie, Airic sighed, using the Outrider moniker for a Londh from Bridge Township.

Ora chewed dried meat and asked, "Ever seen anyone treated like that by rented horses?"

Never, he said quietly. After a moment’s consideration, she withdrew to the narrow space behind the fire, lay down, and hurtled into the oblivion of sleep.

Icari’s pencils slowed along thick paper, in their faithful record of what he’d seen. He slumped against her hip. Then, only Airic was awake. He got up in the rain and went to see what his brother had drawn. It was, after all, the message they’d been sent to create.

Ora Buckmaster would deliver it safely back to Bridges, just as fast as her feet could carry it.

He turned to listen to the rain, uneasily.

"Cannot wait to get out of here." Airic murmured.

For her part, Ora was closed in darkness. She had no idea that even Airic sat just beyond the tenuous grasp of slumber. His mind was watching, but it was also in the final approaches to sleep, when it occurred.

Ora’s eyes seemed to flutter in the fire-heat. Inside, she walked along the ridge – the impossibly narrow ridge – something that took extreme care. But it opened up into a wide stone mountain face before her, its peak a-smoke with snow in the wind. She stepped onto the wider, flatter plateau and looked up at the frozen plinths along the face of mountain, which were tall and relatively square, and realized their construction was unfamiliar. She walked close enough to the standing stones to see writing... she could hardly make it out after so long a blasting by the elements. The anonymous face of the mountain... was between far flung Buckmaster Keep and... she looked left and down at the seaside foothills and plains that marked the end of Scinan territory and the beginning of Ulfr terrain.

Vicious, warlike people, the Ulfrs. A mix of an old breed of mankind – the Caros, or Karnals, almost gone from the earth now – and Southern extraction. Was this theirs? If so.... She hadn’t realized they had writing. Ora knew the rules of the North. She kept her distance from the stones. In fact, this lonely old place, so forgotten and remote, had a... sense of presence that made her look around and wonder, no matter how improbable, if she was being observed up here, alone, at the top of the world. If she was seen in this ancient place exhumed by storms. She felt whispery and strange among the standing stones and so she looked above her head at a magnificence of stars that winked to light, one by one, for support.

Friends.

Friends in the firmament.

Lacking any other idea what to do, Ora’s booted foot scraped back, and she inclined her head to the stones out of respect.

Her hand came up to make a fist just below her shoulder, it would have extended to the stones like an offering, but that was never to be.

Like a fish on a line, she catapulted to the waking world with her hands up to her throat.

Ora couldn’t suck in air that was how tightly her throat was constricted.

She rolled through the fire.

"Blazes!" Airic barked before he got control of himself in this expanse where they had to be quiet. He ran for her, to slap ribs, back, and burning fur, to put her out. Icari caught hold of her wrenching body and turned her onto her back.

"Chief?" he hissed and looked up and around him in case they were discovered.

She tried to breathe, sucked a soft inhalation, and pushed through the black dots before her eyes as she slumped against Airic. He was saying, "Get Steda. Now."

Here, Steda had his bow out, an arrow knocked, and was turning in circles looking for a target in the wind and dying rain.

Get back in the thatch and get the horses up. Airic growled. "We’re staying under cover and getting the Fires out of here. Right now."

Ora sucked a deeper, half breath, confused. There was nothing under her fingers. She kept clawing at her throat, but there was nothing there.

No-no, Icari pulled her hands away from the red-raised welts she was making. His fingers swept along her throat, and he looked up at Airic. He sounded panicked. "It must be inside."

Airic, who assumed control because, of the men here, he’d travelled with her the longest, pointed at a pack. They’d been camped in the Low North, on a trade route, the land of medicinal herbs and the main reason Outrider bands ever went there. Now they toted all kinds of healing tinctures. A crushed treatment, she remembered scoffing, for swelling and inflammation.

Redword had insisted.

Sure enough, Ora winced at the burning-keen bite of ginger as Icari’s finger wiped some into her mouth. Her eyes welled-up. Her brows pulled down. One of her hands made a swipe for his head, but Airic caught her leather vambraces and said a rushed, "Oh for – No, Ora. Don’t."

Icari’s eyes went wet, a mirror to her own. But blue. Please, Chief. You have to swallow it.

He was so bluntly upset that she slowed her breathing, squeezed her eyes and lips shut, and swallowed the ginger paste. It went burning into her throat, but... it didn’t stick there. She was all right. Was this...? This was in her mind. Like a battle-ridden soldier. And she had to fight like they did.

Ora repeated the dosing of ginger, and, as best she could manage the controlled breathing, several more times, shaky and absolutely burning hot inside. Airic gave her the green-tisane he’d shaken with crushed dogberries.

Here. This’ll be a little better, Chief. He handed over the stone bowl full of cold tea.

She gulped it down. Sucked a breath. Gulped more. Finally, she filled her lungs and shot up to her woozy feet. Airic steadied her. No. She wasn’t doing that twice. The fire behind her? Extinguished when she’d rolled right through it. Her voice was rough, Horses.

It was time to leave.

And Steda had been working on just that. He slapped reins around the crook of Airic’s arm and said a low, urgent, Horses coming. What happened? What was that?

Ora had no idea. She looked back over her shoulder at the slate top of a watchtower just visible in the hazy predawn distance.

She went to push snow over the remains of the fire.

We’re not waiting around to find out.

Chapter 1 – The Road Home

She thought about the story of these roads as they closed in on the Township of Bridges again.

Redword Aesyr had told her, and, as he was a librarian of the Northern Hoard, she believed him.

She also missed him and kept her peace about it on the trail down to springtime.

Rainy, dank, springtime, apparently.

She’d been away a couple of months as Londhs reckoned it. But focused on the worn cobbles they were on to improve her disposition about the weather. Roads meant people. Eventually. Redword had told her about the road, and she could almost hear him as she let out rein for the Northern pony to amble along a raised road, they’d reached and taken a short time ago.

Better than two hundred years prior, the King of Londhs, Ethrmetz Urs Royal had fallen dead after a joust, and all the Kingdom of Londhark had suddenly come under the sway of his Queen, Sarsa Urs nee Read, a Southern princess, and a sensible woman. Sarsa, who had no taste for prolonged bloodshed and conflict, began to withdraw troops from various entrenched disputes that the Londhark ‘no longer considered politically important’. She wasn’t of the breeding to see the world as a massive chessboard, and war, a game. She redirected the manpower. The Sarsa Road, a massive trade-route patrolled by her army, rolled across the Kingdom. Trade within the holdings of Londhark became connected, and that Kingdom’s wealth and power ballooned.

Forty years ago, trade agreements between Londhark and the Rodhross Kingdom had permitted the extension of the Sarsa along its most direct route. The stretch was patrolled by Rodhross cavalry within their borders.

Ten years later, the road emerged from untamed forest into the perilous Low North. There it found its Northern-most depot within hours of the Green Mirror. And, the Green Mirror’s rivers rolled West, all the way to the sea.

Or so Redd had told Ora.

She didn’t care for the history of Londhs, but his storytelling easily beat dwelling on the long miles of cold marching ever Southward.

And it led to her... home?

Besides, this was the first man-made road she’d seen in so long.

Bridges Township was a consolidation of communities along the expansive inland lake called The Green Mirror, and it, though remote, had long exploited the Green River’s connection to Portston on the coast. It had long been a hub of Northern trade, but it had risen sharply in power with the arrival of the Sarsa Road from the South.

When she crested the rolling hills and could see it before her at last, it was dotted in frost below the belt of broken and shattered foothills known by many names, chief among them ‘the Warp’. That was a dangerous line in the land, and she wasn’t eager to see it again. Of the many inconveniences of the South, she hadn’t missed the Warped and ruined forms of life that emerged out of those jumbled sections of land.

They rode into one of the last small settlements on the Sarsa Road shortly before nightfall and brought their rented horses to their home stable. As Steda handed them over to stable-hands, Airic had hurried in and caught up their packs. Last cart out to Township goes in ten, Chief. You want on it, or do you want a few miles run?

Her boot-leather was almost worn through, and there was no time to stop and make more. Do we have enough money left to pay for a carriage? She asked.

Five minutes of rooting around and counting coppers before they confirmed they could manage it. Well, could manage an uncovered cart, anyway. The prices were down because it was raining.

That didn’t stop her huddled men from falling asleep under their tarp of oiled sailcloth on the way into Bridges Township.

Airic’s body jerked and moved, and he muttered with dreaming.

That was being in the wild. The changes it wrought reached deep.

Ora blinked slowly and rooted to face the town. It grew closer in the sinking sun.

Bellerhode. She’d been hired by the Township Council to go North West to the coast and... check on it, and in that time, the Township had changed. She remembered it ravaged by fires in the downtown area, and many other places, like when she’d last seen it. Now, its lamps glowed. Its alarm bells were silent. It looked peaceful as the land was waking up. This wasn’t like returning to her Keep after running a message, or bringing supplies, but... it felt pretty good to close in on this area again.

She dozed off with her forehead to the slats of the wagon and only woke at the sound of baying dogs on the edge of town, noticing them.

No one else around her moved.

Even Airic was slack with sleep on the chaff.

The Township lamps and windows flickered, and the air was striped by the rising smoke of hearth fires at the coming of night. It was looking hale to her eyes. Whole. Impenetrable. And there was a curious feeling rising inside of her for this settlement she’d fought and rescued. The horses sped up so close to home. As they coasted along a trapper’s road through surrounding gorse, she was struck by how big the Township was. How full of... people. What would that be like?

That’s how long she’d been in the wilderness, and how feral its work had been. She extended a hand through the slats of the cart and caught a palm-full of rainfall.

Warm.

The long-ago days of her vagrant childhood had given way to her father’s Keep. After years flying along paths and mountains and frozen lakes, a nomad, there was this place. She’d saved it. Maybe it was okay to love it a little.

She drifted.

With her body lying against the ragged fur of her winter coat, she cast her mind out like dice across the map of the world she knew. Up, rolled one die, to the family who had taken her in and given her a name, and the woman who had agreed to tame her in Buckmaster Keep. But... the other bounded through Bridges, bounced up along the blocks and broken places of the Warp, and into nameless mountains, all the way up to the Highlands above this place. It came to a stop in the misty waters of the Blue Vaults.

Even in sleep, Ora was stunned that she found herself standing in the early spring there and found it strange that she was looking into the shallowness of the so-called Blue Mirror, at one of Airic’s red dice. She scooped it up. It looked like a little jewel under the parting of skies and glut of stars. But she wasn’t leaving it behind if she might instead give it to Airic Awns again, who loved dice, even if he wasn’t permitted to gamble anymore. Of course, that wasn’t the point. She turned it over in her hands and failed to recognize the symbols on its faces. Would Redd know?

Come home, Redd.

Home was where she was.

Light rose before her. She raised her head to look at what that might be and saw mist-grey cloaks emerge from the clouded shoreline, moving like slivers of wind.

Her fingers fumbled the die as she started forward. Oh! Could it be, "Ruel?"

Ora sat up in the cart.

Her face felt red. Since when would she, a nomad foundling, call the mighty and timeless King of the Fates by his name? Only in dreams.

She felt her lip curl at the tug of the sheet above them.

There’d better be a good reason for waking my men. Ora said in warning, then opened her eyes.

End of the line, Miss, the young driver stood beside the back of the cart, now open, and looked somewhat shamefaced. Sorry to do it, with you looking so peaceful and all.... Going to keep raining I’d venture, a few days. I’d like to have the horses cooled down and inside soon. And me inside too if I can find a room. He looked at the vault of barn beside the edge of town as if considering sleeping in it. Other carts were covered outside, and otherwise derelict.

A barn? She’d slept in a sleet storm. Ora would have happily taken a hay loft. She blinked a few times when she teetered out of the end of the cart, her muscles and tendons protesting all movement.

She’d tried, but they’d been slack with sleep on the ride down here.

Airic scratched his growing beard and winced, since he didn’t like beards, Uh. The Master of Boats. Think he’s still awake?

Don’t know, or care, Ora took her pack and watched Icari check his for the Sketchbook. He did this a lot, and she always found it curious. Then again, he hadn’t been born a Messenger-man, and didn’t know that nothing marked your valuables like habitually checking on them.

Airic stepped down and threw Ora’s pack to her. How long a run is it from here to Kessian’s place?

"Master Kessian," Ora reminded him. Yes. They were back. The Guild Masters here were very influential, and, though only merchants, they were organized, extremely rich, and held more authority than the few threadbare Londh nobles she’d heard still lived in the area.

Then again, assassins had been picking off Masters in these parts. The nobles had to be laying low in light of that, and the Masters were understandably squirrely about it. Which brought her all the way back around to Bellerhode... from which the latest assassins had seemed to hail.

Icari and Steda were stiff as they set their feet on wet grass. They looked grim.

Okay. Ora nodded. Running.

Airic set his feet down and said a very bad word in Scinan.

They say ‘A curse never saved a man’. Icari sighed and started off walking to warm up.

They can shove it in their pipes and burn it up. Airic winced along for the first few steps. He swung his sword savagely in irritation.

They all fell into a line on the curving road.

Londh’s have a similar saying. Steda told the Scinan warrior beside him. It’s ‘Oathing seldom saves us.’ Mothers know it well.

Well and good. Ora stretched her aches and pains. Except for the fact an oath that was honoured by the King Mirariaf of the Fata saved every stick and stone of this town in front of us. She opened her arms at it.

Unless I miss my guess, Steda smiled at her, you Outriders had a good lot to do with that.

The twins, Icari and Airic, seemed to find that encouraging enough to run on.

Their Chief sure did.

She arrived at Kessian’s Manor by full dark. The others of her troop straggled behind her in the rain. Ora slowed to look at the warehouse and docks now completely rebuilt from the disaster of the end of winter. Unseasonable warmth, strangeness in the land, assassins and all kind of calamity had ridden the Township then, and all because the Masters – Jhan Kessian among them – had found gold in the wild, decided to cart it home, and been loath to part with it. It was amazing to her, now, to see the wellbeing of this place. The smell of meltwaters, spring growth, and fresh wood mingled into one pleasant scent here. The mercantile area of this town looked as if nothing had happened, at least, in the dark. Well. Except for the huge Fire Salamander skull that dangled down on chains outside of Kessian’s triumphant warehouses.

Looking at it reminded her how close they’d all come to destruction.

And it reminded her of King Ruel Mirariaf, who’d risked his life... to keep his word.

The kind of integrity that attracted Outriders to it like the lost to a lamplight.

She milled up at the skull of the King’s slain foe as her men came into town behind her.

Ora glanced at them, Well?

Shaking everything loose. Airic grunted. He glanced at Icari walking in to join him, Bit surprised by the Townie, no word of a lie.

Now he said it. Now that they’d been to Bellerhode and back.

Icari looked up, brightly, He’s slow. And he took an elbow from his grinning twin.

But Steda was coming. Ora turned to see him.

He was a shadow backlit by brighter fog along the lamps in this part of town. He was walking it, but he was doing well. Ora smiled, At least he’s not still on the edge of town.

Good for him, Icari seemed charmed, He’s-

Another voice split their private conversation. That was novel, after months.

Who goes there! What’s your business here so late?! shouted a Township guard who came out of the darkness with a spear in his hands, and his partner straight on his heels.

Ora put up her hands and stood still in sprinkling rain. Her men followed suit.

Come into the light, let us see you, barked a guard. Who are you?

Steda had seen the reception and stepped it up. He sprinted into the courtyard in front of Jhan Kessian’s warehouse and put his hands up. For a moment, as if he’d forgotten himself, he said nothing. But he soon shook himself and called back, It’s Kit Steda with the Master of Boat’s Northern Wolves. You don’t want to get between him and information he paid for, do you Mr. Dahs?

The man’s voice changed at once, Steda? He came out of the shadows and summoned a lamp. They waited, motionless under the tips of spears, for the lamp to appear and confirm. Dahs broke into a smile, Steda! Welcome home! Gods it must be grand to be back in civilized company.

There was much back-clapping then.

Ora turned her upper body enough to make glance to Icari who rolled his eyes.

Londhs. They didn’t think highly of Wolves, as they called the Outrider Scinan.

But then Steda’s voice came up sharp, Mind. These are my fast friends, understand?

The armoured Township guard looked surprised. Have you gone to the Wolves, Steda?

Gone to the Wolves? They’re in the employ of the Township Council, Steda nodded his head at several guards now arriving. And believe me, Mr. Dahs, in the end, you want them in your corner.

Ah. You’ve been a long time on the land, friend, Dahs said uncomfortably. He gestured across at the Manor. Let’s get you inside. Surely the Master of Boats is going to want to see you.

The Master of Boats being Jhan Kessian’s title.

In this Northern shipping hub, he’d essentially climbed over the top of the other Masters and taken a seat. This was because almost all the shipping in the area went by barges, ships, boats of all kinds. Even the old, though dangerous, route down through the forest to Rodhross – still used when speed was essential – was by river.

Along the Northern trade routes Kessian was one of the big dogs. But Ora, according to the Londh citizens of Bridges themselves, was a Wolf. Though the term was used as a slight to the Scinan people, and Outriders particularly, Ora found it ironic that the Londhs hereabouts had landed on something so powerful and beautiful to label them. There was no debating the endurance, ferocity, and strength of a properly trained Wolf.

Which she forgot all about when the heat hit her.

A new guard opened one of the warehouse doors to her.

"Oh, my Fires." Her face lit up.

Wash off the dirt of the road, good-Wolf. He’d traveled with her before. Welcome back.

By all means. Said Dahs. And I’ll rouse Master Kessian. He expected you back later in this month, but he has been talking about your band and your-

Ora didn’t hear much more of what passed between Dahs and Steda after that. A cleaning woman led her through the stove-heat of the warehouse, and down to where the horses were usually washed. It turned out all the water they drew there was heated either by ambiance, or in big cast-iron boilers.

The woman stood back and doggedly scrubbed Ora’s clothes.

Kessian joined them in his warehouse when Ora trailed Steda into the building. Airic felt his fresh shave with relief. Ora hadn’t seen so many people in one place since she’d left this place and balked as she entered the hallway.

Buckmaster? Kessian sat amid a circle of clerks, at a broad wooden table with so many wooden appointments, it looked like it had pillars with rough-carved roses along them. He stood up amid the scribes and penny-counters around him.

Chief, you are tired. Said Icari. It was a warning to watch how she spoke to the Londhs. Icari reached across to tap her leather vambrace and draw her wandering attention. Icari looked a bit lost and overwhelmed himself, and she instantly understood he felt something like she did: like the floor had whisked away and she’d fallen out of the open spaces into a bustling box full of humanity. That was what this building really was.

Yes, all is well, she told him in return.

They’d adjust. It would take a little time, but they would.

That didn’t stop Icari’s older twin from throwing an arm around Icari, protectively. Airic kept to the Scinan language. <We’ll go out on the dock, get your bearings. Just for a minute or two. How’s that sound?>

<Go. Don’t be long.> Ora nodded.

Ora wished she had that option. She went through the marble foyer, still full of bean-counters, and into the even busier world of the storage and shipping area in the back. In under two minutes, just on her way to the Master of Boats, she counted more people than she’d been exposed to in days and more over the last weeks – forty-two people coming and going. It was noisy and rushed, and only the smell of fresh wood saved her senses. Steda led her unfailingly, and Ora paused.

The new and more open staircases appeared to be finished through the building.

Kessian had left the desk to come toward her. Oh. Do you like them?

They were dramatically different in style, broader, and the white-wood stairs were suspended on wood posts, every several steps. Since there was an intermediate landing, a four-person seating area had been tucked underneath, at least on the ground floor, separated by the desk. She set her hand on the curved starting newel post and noted all the balusters were slender and lovely. There were no risers, and the stairs climbed up into an arched open space.

She scrutinized at this, a jumble of emotions. If she were to continue working with Kessian... this beat the cage-like lift that so reminded her of being captured in goblin netting in the High North. She felt herself grow somber, You did this for the Fata King. Ora said. She hadn’t spoken the name of that race of Strangers since she’d discharged the onus of the King of the Fates, in the unseasonable warmth of late winter. She still didn’t like thinking about that strangely lonely moment. Does it feel like a waste to you now?

Her fingers tightened on the railing.

Jhan Kessian looked up at the pale and fragrant wood and shook his head. They know we’re here now, Buckmaster. And we’ll be ready, should they return. He paused as he looked down at her. "Stars... Buckmaster are you taller?"

She glanced in his direction and chuckled, No. You’ve gotten used to smaller women.

You look good. If damp, he crossed his arms and leaned against the staircase, and people diverted around him. Ora was immediately able to assess that his good looks had held. Same bright eyes. Same sandy hair. Same memory of freckles on the bridge of his nose. He couldn’t keep from smiling and straightening as she joined him.

Your people let me wash-up, she said.

I suppose you’re hoping for a meal, his brows went up.

"Well, I could cook and eat you." She deliberated.

That broke Kessian’s Londh reserve, and he laughed. Welcome back to you and your Wolves, Buckmaster.

People poured out of that area of the halls. Having been out on the land for months, the Outriders looked very out-of-place here. Their worn-in leathers were hand-patched and sewn and had been in Northern styles to begin with. Their shoulders were thick with pelts, and their bodies were draped with chain mail bound to them with deer tendons. Ora had a sudden awareness of their wildness as she watched the twins withdraw. And she’d tied bone toggles into the hair around her face and temples, so that she could easily pull it back behind her head and pin the bones together there. A good reason, but still....

Given his blue eyes, she could see Kessian’s pupils open wider. His words came out in a soft exclamation, Gods, you look like an orc-hunter.

"I am an orc-hunter," she considered. And Ora jagged into the room on whose door Master Kessian leaned. It made her wonder what he thought Outriders did in the High North? Up there, the goblins of the world still roamed free. Orcs ran in packs. Monsters out of the Warp were far more likely to move onto the open spaces of the Northern plains rather than to come down here.

Well. Until recently.

The room was as she remembered it – large, wooden, dominated by a beautiful wood table with a spacious local map and a condensed one from Green Mirror to Portston. Markers, little wood figures of carts throughout the city, barges and boats on the water, larger caravans on the plain, all sat on individual slates with numbers and currency counts on them. Trade was Kessian’s business. There were also two final young staff members in the room and they seemed afraid to pass Ora on the way out, but they managed it. The guards on hand straightened, and held their places.

Kit Steda gave the Master of Boats a bow in greeting.

Gods, Steda, Kessian looked the man over. I almost didn’t recognize you. Look at you... how-

Be kind, now, Master Kessian, Steda chuckled as he set down his saddle bag.

The Master of Boats stepped in and clapped his hand into Steda’s in greeting. You don’t have a thing to worry about, Kit. You’ve got a position with me, I assure you. And since you had to let your lodging go, I insist you guest in my house until you find a place to stay.

Ah! Thank you, Steda stepped back and indicated Ora. But the first line of business is lodging for the Chief and her crew.

Kessian twigged upon hearing this and he glanced over her anew.

Over her shoulder, Ora saw Icari give a friendly smile at the Master of Boats as the twins returned. That might have been what saved them. All right, Kessian nodded. Seeing as... so many of the Wolves have pulled up stakes, you should stay here at least until you get that round tent of yours back in order.

She might have said no... but Kessian’s guest facilities came with hot baths. If Ora had one vice it was a deep appreciation for soap and water. She gave a single nod before she gestured at the doorway. Wordlessly, Airic stepped across to shut the door, then her Outriders stood along the back wall and waited for her to say what she’d come to say.

Kessian gave a soft laugh, Ah. I forgot you act like a Queen.

She was the daughter of a Master-House? Did he expect her to act like a page? She rolled her shoulders and replied, You’ve never met a Queen.

That is... true, Kessian leaned on the large table behind him and exhaled, Have met a King though. You’re right. You’re not as bad as he was.

Bad?

Well, Kessian blinked in confusion, He was rather highhanded.

"He’s a King," Ora said flatly.

Buck, your conversational skills went out into the wild to die, didn’t they? The Master of Boats considered her with his brows up on his forehead, and his expression lively.

"Buckmaster, she told him. Let’s get to business, Master of Boats."

You lot, he pointed at the Wolves who stood in the misted door near the back, "should be teaching her what we people of breeding call ‘small talk’. Despite her size, she has a face for better things, you know, if she but smiled