Star-Torn Sky

By Anna Hunter

Star Torn Sky was planned in intricate detail from its history to its people. It’s taken over twenty years to mature and cultivate this world. The story and characters have grown and have depth and complexities. Discover the life’s work of this creative storyteller.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9781669869283

Anna Hunter

Anna Hunter has been writing and illustrating stories about Nadragas ever since she was a child. Although the stories have undergone changes and the characters have evolved, her passion to share this world hasn’t waned. Anna is a mother and artistic soul. She loves art of all mediums such as painting, sculpting, theater, costumes, make up, music, poetry, and interior decorating. Aside from art she also loves gaming of all kinds be it table top, board games, or video games.

Book preview

Copyright © 2023 by Anna Hunter.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,

recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 03/10/2023

Xlibris

844-714-8691

www.Xlibris.com

851085

CONTENTS

Prologue

Festival of Lights

A Reverent Sanctuary

Pollen of the Ryen

Strong Like a Hylenthian Woman

Mist of the Domlo

The Last Vial

The Lost Herd

Lair of the Banished

Child of Arcos

Bsnevian’s Bastard

The Feather Bed Jig

Innocent Snow Gazelle

Nothing Left to Fear

Forlorn Journey

Marshlands of Datace

Fragments of the Coast

The Cursed Brothers

Seed of Meratton

About the Author

Glossary

Afterword

To the memory

of Leigh Ann Morgan

PROLOGUE

Crazed cattle fled burning fences in a stampede. No stars were visible through the haze of ash. The fumes of sizzling tree sap and steaming earth were heavy on the air. Over the mountains, the fire blazed like an ominous storm. Red smoke filled the valley with blood and flooded unassuming farmsteads. In the southern mountains sat a manor, the only audience to this terrorizing display. Yellow and orange fires freckled the homes and overtook the land. Flames engulfed the valley.

Many silhouettes ran but were halted by falling trees.

Blood and ash churned in the dirt.

In the valley, the ground crumbled and shattered apart, and a fountain of liquid rock and metal surged out. Water screamed as the magma slammed into the frozen ocean, and the ice shattered in all directions. Muddy water boiled and oozed over the ground like oil. The steam had the acrid stench of copper and sulfur, and the heat dancing in the sky looked ghostly. Chunks of rock and fire flew through the night sky, and entire forests became an army of torches in the night.

Far from the flaming storm stood the manor, defiant on the opposite mountain range. Within these walls, chaos churned like a roaring audience. Soldiers and civilians alike lost all sense of reason and bravery. Weapons were discarded and shields would serve no protection. A crack raced up the mountain and stopped short of the manor. Those who were too frightened to run hid instead. A child curled into his mother’s embrace behind the stone barricade. Everyone coughed from the acidulous smoke, and their eyes were red. A maid brought buckets of water to nurse the soldiers’ burns and wipe their eyes clean. Rubble was pulled away in a futile attempt to help the motionless bodies beneath.

A soldier emerged from within the manor castle and removed her decorated helmet. Beneath she revealed red hair tightly braided and wrapped around her head, both disheveled from the chaos and damp with sweat. She realized the number of civilians taking shelter could be counted on her hands. Her heart squeezed with pain. She looked over the survivors and longed to see a different, more familiar face, to no avail. Tears streaked down her ash-stained cheeks. Whether those tears were from the ash, sadness, or horror, she wasn’t sure. She covered her face with a wet rag as a wave of black smoke wafted through.

Oh, Gabien . . . this is a nightmare. She coughed.

Capstone Sunai, a soldier called. It was a young soldier with a black braid behind his ear and a cloth wrapped around his bleeding brow.

I hear you, Delling. Capstone Sunai wiped her face to hide her tears, but only smeared around soot instead. Through the smoke and the flames, she saw something in the ocean of liquid fire. From within the bubbling mass of lava, there was movement, like that of a whale shifting just beneath the swells of the sea.

Did anyone see that? the capstone asked.

See what? Delling echoed and rubbed soot from his red-ringed blue eyes.

I saw . . ., she stammered. I saw . . .

It’s the beast, shouted the woman holding her boy. "Oi saw it . . . Oi

saw it move. It broke apart the ground. There’s something in the fire. It’s a monster!"

Are you sure that’s not soot in your eye? Delling asked.

Aye, it’s there. I saw it too, came a gruff voice that came from a huge soggy man wearing heavy furs with a wounded man over his shoulder. He rolled the wounded one onto the ground with the others. Fished this one out of the river.

The Boehob River? Delling asked.

Capstone Luzja Sunai felt her heart stop as she recalled something. Mam told me a legend about a creature that slept in the womb of the earth . . . it’s just a story to tell bad children, she trailed off.

Oi’ve heard the story too. Oi even told it to my boy . . . She looked down at her child, but he was inconsolable and clinging for dear life.

I see it too, said Delling, an immense creature moving in the flames.

Capstone Sunai! another soldier approached. He had blond hair and a bushy beard. He held a sheathed sword. This is the commander’s sword.

Where is he? she asked.

I don’t know. No one has seen him.

Thank you, Reserve Myrddon. What of Instructor Dorhedyn?

We found him under the rubble. He’s done for, Capstone. The rocks crushed him. Specialist Shul couldn’t even heal him.

But isn’t that Instructor Raide? The Lapola Bear of the Lhydawn Army! Muriche’s Mercy! Reserve Myrddon sighed.

Don’t look at me, I retired, he retorted.

Coward! the mother holding her child said.

Aye, I’m a wolf running with his tail between his legs! Have you seen that thing? Raide’s blue eyes were alight with rage and fear. The Lhydawn lost the war! The Datactyns and Domlo win! We had an arms contest, and they whipped out that monster. Who in the right mind would fight them now?

Reserve Myrddon had no fear of the tribeland Noren. It killed Lhydawn, yes, but the Datactyn and Domlo burned just as easily in its flames. They might be thinking the same thing about us.

There’s no one else, Delling said. It’s just Capstone Sunai and the two specialists, Leoiel and Shul.

The argument halted when the capstone gestured for their silence.

I would still fight them, Capstone Luzja said.

But Capstone . . .

Let Raide enjoy his retirement, whatever’s left of it. Capstone Luzja took the commander’s sword from Myrddon’s clawed hands. I will accept the responsibility for the last of the Lhydawn. I am of the right mind to fight the Domlo and the Datactyns. Will you follow me?

Hail, Sunai! Delling called.

Aye, Commander Sunai. We will follow you! Reserve Noleen cried.

All hail the new commander, Luzja Sunai! Reserve Myrddon called loudly.

FESTIVAL OF LIGHTS

Manor Dtsi sat in the northeastern part of the country called Datace. It had been mere days since the Great Fires and the manor had yet to discover any of their Lhydawn brothers and sisters in that time. They found hostile Datactyn clans, the native drake-people of the Kingdom of Datace, and a single nomad named Etole, who braved the broken world without fear.

War brought the Lhydawn to these shores and the Great Fires kept them here. The Lhydawn fought two armies in the capital city of Ziloime and triumphed. The armies that fought were Datactyns and the Domlo of Myrinten, an allied empire to Datace. Not long after, all were battered with bitter backlash. It was a sick twist of fate that the Lhydawn now sought refuge in the place they sought to destroy.

Commander Sunai vaulted into a riposte. Her boots moved tactically and frozen leaves crunched like glass under her as she whirled. Memories darkened her mind, and visions of the ground cracking like an egg and geysers of lava haunted her.

It had been three days since the falling star hit, and the sky was still darkened with vapor and soot. After impact when the fires dimmed, the world grew frigidly cold. The first snow polluted the ground with a blanket of blackness. Things had changed drastically, and snow was no longer white. The sunset was no longer golden, and the sky was gray instead of blue.

She still saw the liquid fire in her nightmares and waking life. She could still see it meld with the dirt and turn ice into steam. The image of pine needles floating away like glowing hairs on the wind stood out among the others.

Luzja’s heart slammed into fearful tremors, and despite her rational mind. Luzja lost her footing and scrambled, as if fire stained the ground. Her mind sped away from her, and the memory of the heat on her heels and the stinging crackle of fire was too real. Luzja tore at the ground with desperate fumbling hands.

With a blink, the vision was gone, and the dry grass was no longer on flame. She sat in a trembling daze, but it wasn’t from the cold. She heard a crackle and it made her recoil like a cannon exploding. She flattened on the ground. Silence followed the tense moment as her fear dispersed. She looked up and found the culprit for her episode—a flag over the barricade snapping in the wind. Her heart was still slamming against her breastplate.

Commander!

Summoned by her call for help, her trusted Steward Revere was there. Luzja’s hair whipped in the wind and her eyes stung. He had a worried expression. The guard said you fell.

I . . . forgot where I was.

Steward Revere recognized the signs of her traumatic experience. He had seen it enough times. The look in her eyes, the heaving of her shoulders, the trembling of her hands, the paleness of her face. He sat beside her and pulled a knitted scarf over her head and hid her face from the frigid wind. Is it over, Commander?

Yes. She hid her face in the scarf and felt the knit with her nose. It smelled like him.

Practicing? he asked gently.

Luzja looked at her discarded swords on the ground. She nodded. They looked down the windy slope to the dark frozen ocean. The ice was in broken chaotic upheaval as far as the eye could see. The ice looked dark and still like metal and just as cold.

That night, when the fire tore apart the sky. That falling star caused it to waken, he said and a speck of black snow touched his face and melted like a blotch of ink. Luzja wiped his face with the end of the scarf.

It was the kind of star that grants nightmares, not wishes, Luzja said.

The sparse flurry of ebony snow threatened to darken the day. He helped her stand on her trembling legs with his shoulder guard brace. He was mature in looks but appeared youthful enough to make the silver luster of his hair seem surreal.

The Festival of Lights will begin soon. he said and glanced back at the sun setting across the mountain range behind them. It’s supposed to celebrate hope.

Do you even remember what that feels like? Hope? she whispered.

The daylight is still there. It’s just hidden. You deserve to enjoy the celebration, he said with a positive tone and nodded toward the black snowy skies.

Steward Revere’s optimism struck a chord in the string instrument that was her heart. She didn’t know what else to say. Her dark mood was humbled by his brightness. Luzja didn’t mind though. She really liked that about him.

Let go of your nightmares and enjoy some wassail in friendly company, he advised.

Luzja was the commander of the Lhydawn army, and lady of the manor called Dtsi Manor, and Revere was her loyal steward. It stood atop a range of mountains that overlooked the frozen Dalalan Sea. Most in attendance stood atop the palisade wall while others watched from castle windows or the barracks rooftop. A small boy climbed a tree.

The sun peered through the dense cloud cover at two points during the day, at sunrise and sunset. When it did, it gleamed with a green glow. There was a hopeful shiver in all who viewed. The Festival of Lights was an Alairian holiday and marked the lengthening of day and the coming of a less brutal season. The wintertide was over and they could look forward to flowertide. They all knew there would be no blossoms to come with the season, despite their hopes. The warming of the weather reminded them that there was light at the end of the tunnel, and this silent joy was in the eyes of all. It was a secret excitement that bubbled within each heart—hope. The wish for better days.

Commander Luzja recovered her composure from the traumatic episode by the time she was within the safety of the manor’s walls. Steward Revere carefully let Luzja walk on her own as they parted ways.

Time to make sure all went well with Delling and the hunting party. Don’t forget what I said, Commander.

Luzja smiled and watched him leave. She felt sad to see him go, but she knew she’d see him later during the festival. She glimpsed a storyteller in the courtyard with an audience aptly listening as she passed. The storyteller was a small girl named Reigan who managed trade in the manor.

A worldwide fire destroyed much of the cities of Nadragas. The smoke from those fires darkened the skies . . . Reigan’s voice dimmed out as guards opened the manor doors. She overheard them talking.

It’s colder than an ice sorceress’ tit in a cobalt bra! Whup me where the good Lawd split me! Reserve Gai said.

It never used to get this cold before, Reserve Candren chimed in, plus, we’re in the mountains so that makes everything colder.

All throughout the manor, every lantern was filled with oil. Every torch was lit. Every corner was littered with lights, and with them came hope. In every window, there were candles.

Every survivor was afraid when it came to fire and this event not only represented their hope, but how they continue to fight those fears. It had only been a few days since the falling star, and with it came a firestorm of falling debris that set their world ablaze. This festival displayed their strength in overcoming their flame phobias and haunting nightmares.

Commander Luzja stopped inside the main hall of the manor. It was time to light the grand chandelier. It was an Alairian tradition for each person to light a candle and make a wish. A rare smile curled the edges of Luzja’s mouth as she watched a mother help her boy light his candle. This chandelier was symbolic and with each wish the room grew brighter.

Is that wassail?

Specialist Leoiel and Shul came bursting into view reeking of holiday drink. Shul wore so many layers she looked more like a pile of discarded clothing than a person. The desert beauty was sensitive to cold. Her escort was Luzja’s very old friend, Specialist Leoiel. He was both lithe and deadly with a blade. Luzja was glad to see him unarmed in this rowdy time. He had short white hair and albino red eyes. They both had their own stein of wassail and sloshed clumsily to their commander.

Vhat̬’r̃e you doing in ar̃mor̃? Shul questioned.

Leoiel handed her his pint. Ni serel, Zja, loosen up and have fun!

Loosen up? So one of you wants to get me out of my armor and the other wants me to get drunk? My, my, I never knew, she teased dryly and took the drink. It tasted of brandy and cinnamon with a touch of cloves.

They exploded with laughter. Leoiel had to hold himself up on the wall and Shul was in tears. The desert flower said playfully as she wiped a tear from her eyelashes, I t̬hink a bar̃r̃el of gr̃apes has mor̃e appeal, Commander̃.

Before Luzja could register the joke, they pulled her outside. They headed into the merriment where a bonfire was set ablaze. There were already many people dancing around and Reserve Candren was telling a story.

Wait, grapes have peels, Luzja said.

Leoiel and Shul laughed.

An old warrior with warm black fur over his shoulders and a long braid to match stood out in the crowd. He had many scars and a portion of his black hair was stained white with age. He sat in a chair with a horn filled with ale listening to the story, making sure to add in the accurate parts of their conquests. Despite his age, the warrior looked robust and healthy.

They say the streets of Ziloime were flooded with blood . . ., Candren spoke, leaning in toward the people who listened with rapt ears and wide eyes. The blood of Datactyns and Lhydawn . . . and it’s told that the soldiers used it to douse the flames that were set in the city.

Aye, actually, when Sunai arrived in Ziloime she led a group right to a Rksember. That nightmarish beast was armored and trained for battle! Sunai made that beast into minced meat! And the Datactyns wet themselves. HIC, he said and sloshed his cup.

Luzja crossed her arms as if to say she was unhappy with his descriptions but that didn’t stop the smile on her face. Raide! Who’s telling the story?

Or, that . . . HIC . . . You know what? I know a story, Raide said with a barbarian wolflike smirk. Have you spoon-suckers ever heard of the legend of Molos? Now that’s a good story . . .

Commander Luzja sighed and walked along, enjoying the sight of dancing. This festival released a light inside her. She felt hope sparking to life. It was inexplicably infectious.

The Lhydawn commander went up the palisade looking out over the horizon when she bumped into a tall reserve on guard.

Commander, I didn’t expect to see you so far from the festival. Her blue eyes sparkled with friendliness and she smiled widely. What are you doing out here?

Good evening, Reserve Noleen, thought I’d make some rounds, Luzja said and leaned against the wall casually.

In Nore . . . it was customary to give gifts this time of year. We call it the time of Bsnevian’s Blessing, Reserve Noleen said and scratched her short black hair. So, heh, this is for you, she said and handed Luzja a twig. It was a dried branch with shriveled leaves of a faded green color.

What is this?

It’s an herb known to have many health benefits. It makes a fragrant calming tea, Reserve Noleen said. We call it Wynina’s Touch.

Where did you find this?

I found it beneath the arch of a cliff in the mountains to the west. I collected all that I could and dried it. I thought it best to preserve it.

Over the last few days the people at the manor had gone through many stages of grief. Most of them were still in shock and denial. Luzja knew that Reserve Noleen had an intense fear of fire. Reserve Gai was terrified of water. Candren was one of the jovial unbroken spirits, but his eyes were still infected and swollen. Myrddon suffered breathing problems and had a persistent cough. Raide had episodes of aggression that were only subdued by ale. Beastmaster Lo Den sometimes had flashbacks. Many times, Reserve Yadira caused accidents while under the influence of drink, and Allie developed a speech impediment. One of the worst was Reserve Jaaved, who had stress-induced seizures. Even Luzja suffered from constant nightmares and Revere lost feeling in his right leg due to burns and infection. Everyone suffered both the traumatic disaster and the loss of their family and friends.

How are you faring seeing all the lights? Luzja asked.

I’m trembling, but Allie helps me cope. I prefer not to be too close to the fire even when my toes get numb.

It’s good to have someone to help you.

Aye, Commander, it is. I don’t know where I’d be without Allie and Delling.

Luzja mulled over the thought. It seemed many of the survivors leaned on each other, Reigan leaned on Gai, Gai leaned on Candren, Candren leaned on Myrddon, Myrddon leaned on Heller, and so on. They all helped each other cope. Despite the horrors they endured, they developed a bond through the trauma.

When Luzja needed someone to lean on, Steward Revere was there. A feeling of warmth kindled in her heart at the thought of her steward. Revere was more than just the steward of this manor. He was her friend.

Thank you, Reserve Noleen. That was thoughtful of you, she said. I think it’s a nice tradition. Perhaps we can adapt it like we did with the Alairian’s Festival of Lights.

Thanks, Commander. Be well,

The commander went down the stairs from the outlook and down back to the lights of the festival. She saw Specialist Shul flirt with Reserve Candren, who had messy blond hair. Specialist Leoiel was enjoying some drunken games with Reserve Gai and Jaaved. Raide attempted to charm Delling before he realized Delling was a man. A child observed the festivities with awe from the castle window. Capstone Myrddon played cards with a few reserves. Mistress Madiellza and a mother were running the potluck dinner.

The commander walked into the manor. Most of the sounds of the festivities were muffled by the massive manor door. She heard a few manorhands giggling and running around the halls as she made her way to the spiral stairs to the second floor. Luzja pushed the door open to the second-floor battlements, and when she rounded the corner, she spotted her missing friend overlooking the festival below.

The profile of his face was illuminated with bonfire light and his hair gleamed silver.

There you are!

With that candlelight of hope in her heart, she recalled how they met.

The ground was dusted with hot ash and her hands burned as she crawled. Her eyes were swollen shut, and when she struggled to open them, she saw her hand was painted black with soot. She fell to her back and soot billowed in every direction like a curtain. Her tearing red eyes looked up at the sky but saw only blackness and the glow of fires. Her lungs burned and her mouth was gritty with bitter ash. A cool wet cloth came down over her eyes to soothe them. A comforting hand gripped hers.

I found you. It’s okay. You’re not alone . . .

Luzja felt a drip on her face, like a small warm droplet.

You’re not alone . . . She heard a sniffle and realized her helper was crying. I found a bucket. Can you drink some of this water?

Luzja shifted onto her side, felt a ladle near her lips, and drank. The water tasted bitter like ash, but it was welcome regardless.

Is that her—is that Sunai? She recognized Myrddon’s voice.

I don’t know, her helper said. What’s your name, love?

Luzja Sunai . . .

I’m Revere. Vail Revere. Are you the Lhydawn commander?

Yes . . . kfff! . . . It’s so dark. She coughed.

The smoke is too bad. Let’s get you inside, Commander. She felt his arms and she reached up to him. He lifted her easier than she expected and felt the motion of him carrying her through the haze.

The memory faded and Luzja found herself back in the present. Now, her savior was her steward.

Revere?

A rumbling sigh sounded and he stretched. Commander?

Enjoying the sights?

Yes, of course. Shul is trying to teach Reigan how to dance. Yadira is singing a shanty with Gai and Jaaved.

Luzja went to his side to watch and laughed. This is a great view!

They smiled as they overlooked the fun below. Raide had someone on his shoulders. Candren was sitting on Gai’s lap. Myrddon sat with Felice while they laughed. Delling danced with Allie and Reigan. Yadira finished her shanty and flopped onto the ground drunkenly.

Something on your mind, Commander?

There’s always something on my mind.

You’ve got a lot to do.

Yes. She sighed.

Commander?

Yes?

You aren’t in this alone. He shifted his weight where he stood.

Thank you, she said.

I’ll help you with whatever you need.

She watched him reach forward. He cradled the scarf hanging from her shoulder. The gesture told Luzja that he stopped short of taking her hand. She understood his hesitation, because she felt it too. Something inside her wanted to reach back.

The image of two sooty hands gripping tightly flashed in her mind. The words you are not alone echoed in her memory. She felt a sense of déjà vu and she smiled at him.

Thank you, Steward Revere . . . She felt like the title was cold and distant. The Lhydawn army appreciates your support and aid. If there’s anything we can give you in return . . .

No, Commander. I ask for nothing.

I remember when we first met. It was here, Luzja began, her trembling voice betraying her effort to stay calm. You found me in the ash, through the smoke. I came here with the Lhydawn to escape the destruction of Port Iuetda.

It was raining ash and fire. His grip slowly allowed the scarf to slip from his fingers.

It was a terrible day, she said. When the blizzard of ash came, I thought it was all over, she said.

I looked for you. I wanted to make sure you were safe. I carried you to the manor. You didn’t let go of my hand for hours.

I remember, she said. Her fingers twitched to life, and she instinctively reached out toward his hand. He finally took her hand in his and squeezed.

I didn’t expect to become commander so quickly . . . Such is war.

His other hand came to her cheek, and she looked up at him. She noticed her sight was blurry. She felt his touch on her face, and she realized there were tears spilling down.

It’s all right, he said.

It doesn’t feel all right, she whispered. Her voice cracked. She felt the tears come crashing down. He pulled her close. Their armor clanked as they gripped each other.

It’s not all right, Luzja cried.

His mouth brushed against her hair as his arms tightened around her. I’ve got you.

Her face rubbed against his neck and tears smeared against his skin, matting silver hair in place. She felt at ease in his arms and gripped tighter to him.

Surviving the Great Fires created a bond between the people of Dtsi Manor unlike anything else. There was a united sense of pain that linked complete strangers together to one story. Such a bond was like glue.

Their eyes met in the nearness. He wiped the tears from her cheeks and smiled gently. Luzja’s hand slid behind Revere’s head to feel his hair between her fingers.

Fear reached up from her stomach and clenched her heart in its iron grasp. She broke the connection of their eyes.

I’m sorry . . .

Luzja couldn’t bring herself to look at him. She felt his warm breath against her ear, and it tingled the hairs against her neck. He tipped her chin up.

Luzja, please look at me, he whispered.

His voice was so soft. With such a plea, she could not resist. The bonfire light splashed across his face, and it made his expression quite plain to her. The care in his eyes made her fear seem trivial.

You’re safe, he whispered.

Despite her strength and her resolve, she had no power. Revere felt her trembling in his arms and he gently rocked her. Luzja pushed her face against his hair. She focused on the warmth and it grounded her. Her heart struggled like a feral animal in a cage. Her breath left flat clouds of steam on his armored shoulder. She felt as though she could truly release her burdens.

I’ve got you, Commander, he whispered.

A REVERENT SANCTUARY

A small glowing piece of ash from the bonfire spiraled through the cold air and drifted along. It grew dim as it drew closer, darkening as it fell to the ground.

There is so much to fear. But please . . . lean on me. I will hold you up.

I know you will, Luzja whispered against his ear. She allowed herself to rest against his shoulders, and he did not relinquish from her weight.

More than just tension was leaving her body. She felt months of worry and stress seeping out of her muscles. He held her close.

He was her sanctuary.

Commander?

Call me Luzja.

Luzja, he whispered softly.

The feeling was so strong. No thoughts came to mind. Luzja had no will to fight it. She couldn’t remember the last time she was so relaxed and content. She slipped into sleepiness.

A dream crept upon her thoughts—one full of memories.

Do you ever wonder about Professor Morilaeng? It was Gabien’s voice. He wore plate armor. His hair was short, dark black, almost like a sapphire at midnight. His skin was golden and his eyes were light icy blue. He was youthful but mature in stature.

Have you? Luzja replied.

I’ve had my fair share of daydreaming, you’d scarcely believe it, what with all this war business and bloodshed within the last day. I do take note whenever you cleverly avoid a question with a question, though, you tactful little minx.

Yes, as a matter of fact. Oriana gave me something . . . on the eve of the skirmish in Almebca. I wanted to give it to you. It belonged to the professor. She offered the handle of a broken cane to him. She saw sadness in his eyes as he recognized the intricate handle of Professor Morilaeng’s favorite cane.

This—could this really . . . ? Oh, Professor . . . He was so surprised he almost sounded as if he stopped breathing. The metal of his gloves clinked as he took it.

Being raised by a pack of slobbering Raltan Rksember never prepared you for something like this, love?

"Ha, ha, ha . . . you always know just what to say . . . What a pair we make."

I want to go to his home with you. There has yet to be a ceremony for Professor Morilaeng, and I know you want to go to his homeland.

"Of course, I would leave at once had I not needed to be here for the war . . . the professor deserved that honor much sooner . .