Quest of the Covenant (Dragon-Called) (Volume Three)

By Peter Cruikshank

Raising dragons is a daunting task for the Dragon-Called, especially when they’re faced with the ever present evil of the Olcas Mogwai.

Willoe leads an army from the island’s three kingdoms to the mainland to rescue her twin, Rowyn. What starts as a quest quickly burgeons into a crusade to push the Shin-il Priests out of Western Kieran. While Willoe’s bond with her dragon grows, she is faced with dire choices and discovers a disturbing truth about the gods.

Escorted by the vilest of demons, Rowyn travels across Kieran toward the eastern empire to meet the Master of the Shin-il Priests, whose plans for world conquest still require one of the twins. Unsure of his own motives, Rowyn uses the time to become adept in the powerful dark arts of the Shadows under the demon’s tutelage. However, his goal is not without peril as the quest begins to eclipse Rowyn’s and his dragon’s Essence.

Separated from each other, Willoe and Rowyn begin to grasp what the Covenant means for them. Now they’re facing the same disturbing question: Is an encounter with the Olcas Mogwai worth risking not just their life and essence but their dragons’ as well?

If you like spunky heroines and charismatic heroes, intertwined story threads, and a world that comes to life, you’ll love Peter Cruikshank’s Dragon-Called series.

Hold your breath as the dragons mature and get the third book in the series today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Peter Cruikshank
• Release date: Nov 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9798201725068

Peter Cruikshank

Writing has always been in Peter's blood. His love of writing started in his early teens when he cut his teeth on Sci-Fi and the passion never left him. Peter lives in Southern California with his beautiful and fetching wife, along with an exceedingly talkative cat.At an early age, Peter was introduced to Robert Heinlein's Stranger in a Strange Land and has been an avid reader ever since. As a teen, he picked up a copy of Lord of the Rings and expanded his love of reading to include Medieval Fantasy. By 18 years of age, he knew he wanted to be an author, but life got in the way, and his dreams were put on hold - until 2012 when he turned his energy to writing.Outside of writing he obtained a Masters of Science in Information Systems while working in the private & public sectors, academia, and the field of ministry. His diverse work life has provided a wealth of experience that has helped him to understand his characters and the way in which they deal with their trials and tribulations - overcoming obstacles that transform their lives. The process of how some characters fail, and others rise above their own expectations, mimics his personal life. The passion and fire of a life led without regret is what he hopes to bring to his stories. As the Dragon-Called tell us:Stay True to Your Fire Within!

Book preview

Table of Contents

Map of Kieran

Day 240, Rowyn: Shikigam il

Day 258, Willoe: Change in Plans

Day 260, Gened: Port Ornelas

Day 260, Drem: Siege of Castle Westhedge

Day 260, Drem: Lady Kerye & Jamia

Day 260, Hafgan: Schemes

Day 263, Willoe: Preparations

Day 264-265, Willoe: Setting Sail

Day 267, Gened: Revelation

Day 267, Jamia: Subterranean

Day 272, Willoe: Blood Beach

Day 272, Hafgan: A Carrack Waiting

Day 277, Willoe: Enemy Found

Day 278, Willoe: Idiot Prince

Map of the Battle of Lemaire’s Vale

Day 278, Willoe: Skyla

Day 279, Armel: Compromise

Day 280, Seamus: A Way In

Day 280, Gened: Calina

Day 280, Rowyn/Chuluun-Uul: Dominance

Day 283, Kerye/Jamia: Love, Old & New

Day 283, Armel: Too Many

Day 284, Willoe: What’s on Your Mind

Day 285, Jamia: Amour

Day 285, Willoe: Meeting in the Woods

Day 285, Gened: Pirati

Day 285, Liam: Urchins

Day 285, Mael/Gened: Airdesweng

Day 286, Willoe: Shadow’s Dragon

Day 286, Willoe: Visions

Day 288, Gened: Porta Caviglia

Day 288, Willoe: Logoria

Day 288, Rowyn: All Gone Wrong

Day 288, Willoe: Family Principals

Day 288, Rowyn: Intentions

Day 288, Willoe: A Regent

Day 293, Liam: Rumors

Day 293, Willoe: Splendid Fellows

Day 293, Gened/Mael: The Citadel

Day 293, Gened/Mael: Reunited

Day 293, Beynon: Skip a Rock

Day 296, Gened: Tarts

Day 298, Kerye: Goodbyes

Day 298, Hafgan: Hiroshi

Day 299, Willoe/Emeline: Ohpeng Sohsee

Day 301, Gened: Obeah Priests

Day 303, Drem: Dayspring

Day 303, Lord Priddy: Bells

Day 303, Kerye: Bridled

Day 303, Gened: Long Shot

Day 303, Liam: Diversion

Day 303, Beynon: Breach

Day 303, Malbery: The Plan

Day 303, Hafgan: Escape

Day 303, Beynon: Lost Love

Day 306, Willoe: First Touch

Day 307, Hafgan: Defiant

Day 307, Rowyn: Getwaltig

Day 307, Willoe: Forenoon

Day 307, Raken: Encumbered

Day 308, Beynon: A Missive

Day 310, Willoe: Just Between Us

Day 310, Willoe: The Priest

Day 310, Willoe: Brother

Day 310, Willoe: Priorities

Day 312, Armel: Escort

Day 314, Rhein: Troubled Thoughts

Day 315, Beynon: Langskip Prophecy

Day 315-318, Revin: Be Prepared

Day 318, Willoe: Armonia

Day 318, Willoe: Death’s Bed

Day 320, Raken: Loyalty

Day 320, Aeron: Companions

Day 321, Percy/Raken: Treachery

Day 321, Willoe: Excision

Day 324, Raken: Catacombs

Day 324, Desaree: Summoned Home

Day 325, Willoe: Comrades

Day 332, Rowyn: No Turning Back

Day 333, Hafgan/Jamia: Layover

Day 333, Aeron: Ababrywaeh

Day 333, Aeron: Salkhiny

Day 335, Willoe: The Long Way

Day 340, Beynon: Stone Ancestors

Day 341, Aeron: Windswept Wilds

Day 341, Aeron: Smitten

Day 341, Willoe: The Nest

Day 341, Willoe: They’re Coming

Day 341, Willoe: At the Gates

Day 341, Cleric Yoan: Mind-bridge

Day 342, Willoe: Sacrifice

Day 342, Willoe: Tunnels

Day 343, Willoe: Into the Fog

Day 344, Willoe: Isle of Reflection

Day 344, Willoe/Rhein: Anderfai & Calei

Day 345, Rhein: Unlikely

Day 347, Aeron: Valley of Reconciliation

Map of the Great Gathering at Kurultai

Day 347, Willoe: A Choice

Day 348, Aeron: Kurultai, The Great Gathering

Day 348, Aeron: Mergens

Day 348, Rowyn: Starry Reach

Day 348, Willoe: No Time

Day 348, Willoe: A Different Direction

Day 348, Willoe: Southern Wall

Day 348, Sergeant Canard: Who Can You Trust?

Day 348, Willoe: Father

Day 349, Rowyn: Danger Below

Day 349, Aeron: The Sorilt

Day 349, Willoe: Gods

Day 351, Raken: Betrothed

Day 351, Sergeant Canard: Precipitous

Day 353, Aeron: Endurance

Day 354, Willoe: Reunion

Day 354, Sergeant Canard: Iris

Day 354, Emeline: I Am Ohmyilk

Day 354, Revin: Called

Day 356, Kerye: Zìshā zhī Hai

Next Book in the Series

Afterword

Dragon-Called Maps

List of Characters

Miscellaneous Information

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Copyright

Quest of the Covenant

Dragon-Called Volume Three

Peter Cruikshank

good-vs-evil

Raising dragons is a daunting task for the Dragon-Called, especially when they’re faced with the ever present evil of Olcas Mogwai.

Willoe leads an army from the island’s three kingdoms to the mainland to rescue her twin. What starts as a quest quickly burgeons into a crusade to push the priests out of Western Kieran. While Willoe’s bond with her dragon grows, she is faced with dire choices and discovers a disturbing truth about the gods.

With Rowyn in their charge, the Shin-il Priests will not abandon their goal of conquest. Guarded by a demon, they send Rowyn toward the eastern empire to meet their Master. Rowyn uses the chance to master powerful dark magic under the demon’s tutelage, but his goal is not without peril as the demon begins to eclipse Rowyn’s and his dragon’s essence.

Separated from each other, Willoe and Rowyn begin to grasp what the Olcas Mogwai means for them. Now they’re facing the same disturbing question: Is the Covenant with the dragons worth risking not just their life and essence but their dragons’ too?

If you like spunky heroines and charismatic heroes, intertwined story threads, and a world that comes to life, you’ll love Peter Cruikshank’s Dragon-Called series.

Hold your breath as the dragons grow and get the third book in the series today!

Dedication

For my Father-in-Law, Jim, who passed away in 2021. He rarely read a book, especially a fictional novel, but in his 90’s he took the time to read the first two Dragon-Called books and shared his thoughts about them with me—thankfully, they were kind and insightful words. There have been times over the last decade where I’ve wondered if the time I’ve devoted to writing the series, and how much time will still be required, is worth the effort. It’s in this darkness that I picture Jim and what he went through and what he accomplished, never faltering, never complaining. I take a deep breath and with a new light, press onward knowing that I’ll find a way to get the final two books to him.

To my wife and children for putting up with me when I get distracted and forget to do something I promised, or for getting excited and talking about my writing like it’s another child or grandchild, though, of course, not my favorite one. I realize it’s not easy living with an author, which makes me that much more grateful for their overwhelming support.

To all those others who have supported and encouraged me, pushing me even when I couldn’t imagine writing another word.

My hope is that the faith people have put in me is not misplaced. I’m suspicious of the voices in my mind already.

Map of Kieran

For a higher resolution version of this map, please go to www.petercruikshank.com/maps/. This and other maps in this book can be viewed online or downloaded and printed for your convenience.

Map of Kieran

Day 240

Rowyn: Shikigam il

The demon danced away; the being appeared as smoke blowing in the wind. Rowyn inhaled sharply at the same time as he swiftly extended tendrils from his mind through the loathsome domain of the Shadows and wrapped them around the gossamer creature.

Dark strands shot out between the tendrils constraining the demon as the creature fought in vain to avoid Rowyn’s grasp. The fiend settled when it was obvious it would not escape the embrace.

Rowyn thrusted aside his revulsion and formed a picture of a large egg-shaped shield in his mind.

The demon instantly reshaped until it conformed to the oval dimensions of the image.

The air shimmered in front of Rowyn to match the size and shape he had constructed in his mind. He exhaled sharply as a spear splintered against the Shadow-shield; the metal head and wooden pieces from the shaft flew around him to scatter across the floor. He hadn’t even had time to take a second breath before the entire incident had concluded.

Better, but you must be faster. Overlord Ishkand did not smile or show any expression that would distract from his perfectly sculptured face. Instead, he crossed over to the wall and picked up another spear from a rack. You are not focusing your entire mind.

The air in front of Rowyn returned to normal as he released the demon’s Spirit, and the shield faded away. Even before fleeing Taran, Rowyn began his training in the black arts of the Shikigam il under the tutelage of one of the Shadow’s eminent dwellers, Ishkand.

Since arriving in the Fleuveral capital of Logoria, more than a moon earlier, Rowyn had spent most of his waking hours delving into the intricacies and mysteries of the dark Spirit world.

It’s foul. The Essence of the Shikigam il still flowed through and around Rowyn. It left a vile taste in not only his mouth but infused his entire Spirit.

"The Shikigam il is neither vile nor sweet." Ishkand hefted the spear and turned around.

Rowyn felt as if the overlord’s steel gray eyes pierced him. He prepared himself to bring forth another shield, but Ishkand turned back and returned the weapon to the rack.

Facing Rowyn again, Ishkand’s face was inscrutable as he said, It is just the realm of the Spirits.

Damned Spirits. Rowyn kept the disgust out of his tone. The rest of his thoughts remained his own. Demons! He guessed at the overlord’s true identity some time ago. Cian had mentioned the name of a fabled demon, the most powerful of the creatures that dwelt in the lowest depths of the Shadows. A Daevian.

"Spirits more powerful than those of the il fennore," Ishkand’s inflection never wavered—never changed as he walked to his desk, but Rowyn could sense the hatred Ishkand felt for the Burning Lady and her Spirit world.

The Shadow creature continued, For those who are strong enough and have the will to employ them. The overlord paused. It can make them invincible. His eyes stared at Rowyn through a few blond strands that had escaped the long har swept back over his shoulders and tied with a black ribbon.

Yes. Invincible. Rowyn agreed. He had been taught by his Uncle Brom the basics of how to bridge the divide to the Goddess’ celestial sphere, the il fennore, and about Spirits, creatures of the spiritual world. Later, the elves Saraid, Cian, and Helel had showed him how to establish a rapport with the Spirits and manipulate the physical world. Though, even the elves were surprised when Rowyn was able to Sense the Essence of physical objects without a connection to a specific Spirit in the il fennore. Cian thought it had to do with Rowyn and Willoe’s ancestorial Spirits, the Others, which possessed the twins at times.

The antithesis to the il fennore was the Shikigam il, inhabited by miscreant Spirits wandering tormented among the seven ethereal levels of the Shadows for eternity; malicious demons who had to be coerced to do the summoner’s bidding in the corporeal realm.

Whenever Rowyn ventured into the world of the demons, he had a bitter tang in his mouth, and his throat burned as he fought to keep down the bile. However, the energy he felt was beyond anything he had ever experienced—and it grew stronger with every crossing. The undeniable truth was that part of him relished the intoxicating sense of power and dominance; another part loathed him for it.

We are done for today. Ishkand sat at his desk and sorted through a pile of papers.

Rowyn stood still, stunned as he found himself summarily dismissed. Normally, they practiced until dusk. He turned to leave Ishkand’s offices and head out into the streets of the capital. He wasn’t sure what to do with the sudden free time until the image of the elfyn Keelia came to mind, hair as black as a raven, and oval shaped dark eyes. Before he could signal the two massive Jidig warriors standing guard outside, Ishkand called out, Enter.

The wood and iron double doors swung open. A man in a blood-red robe walked toward him. The Shin-il Priest’s head was down. Head shaven and a long mustache that hung below his chin, Chuluun-Uul was preoccupied with a handful of documents.

Priest! Rowyn’s voice lowered so deep it sounded more like a roar, but he couldn’t be heard by the guards. The voice had welled up from Rowyn’s dragons’ blood, the Fire Within, and he’d aimed it directly at Chuluun-Uul alone.

Startled, the Priest stumbled and abruptly halted a step away from Rowyn. His eyes widened as he held a hand up to his chest and gasped to catch his breath. He regained his composure and said bitterly, Your Royal Highness.

They had crossed paths several times since leaving White Cliffs. It was obvious Chuluun-Uul served under Ishkand, performing a variety of task for the overlord, no matter how menial or mundane it may be. This was a role that Rowyn could see profoundly grated on the Priest.

I had not expected you. Chuluun-Uul’s eyes filled with hatred; his mouth hardened.

Rowyn could sense the loathing within the man, a feeling he shared in return. All the pain and agony he and his family had gone through could be traced back to the Uul Priest, including the death of the elfyn Helel at the hands of the Shade Kaerabard. Seeing Chuluun-Uul relegated to little more than the overlord’s lackey gave Rowyn a little comfort. It hadn’t helped the Priest’s cause when it had been discovered that Rowyn’s older sibling Mael had inexplicably disappeared along with the intractable Priest Bat-Uul.

Chuluun-Uul glanced down at the documents in his hands and irritably rubbed them with his thumb, then looked back up at Rowyn with a rigid expression. These can wait. He turned to leave.

No, Priest. Rowyn returned to his normal voice. I’m through here. As he passed Chuluun-Uul, he mocked, Besides, you wouldn’t want to keep your taskmaster waiting.

spacer-small

Logoria was twice the size of Cainwen’s capital, Faywynne, and it took Rowyn more than two hours to reach his quarters. Not because it was far—he could have reached his apartment in a quarter of the time. Instead, he had stopped in a garden not far from the rooms and waylaid a servant to bring him a mug of warm mulled wine to calm his nerves. Since their arrival in the Fleuveral capital, he still felt apprehensive whenever he went to see her.

Rowyn went to the apartment directly across from his set of rooms and stood there. His fist raised, but he held back from knocking on the door.

The two Jidig guards at either side stared straight ahead, ignoring him.

A sigh escaped his lips, and he rapped on the door. Keelia? He waited, then knocked again. Keelia?

When no response came, he opened the door and entered the dark room, the door closed behind him.

Something stirred in the corner. His eyes took a few moments to adjust to the dim light before he could tell it was the elfyn. Rowyn’s vision, enhanced by the Fire Within, could see easily enough now. Out of consideration for Keelia, he lit a beeswax candle next to the door, then lit three more around the room. He left the windows covered in deference to the elfyn’s wishes.

It was a large room fit for a noble lady: luxurious padded chairs, narrow cherrywood tables along two walls and a round one in the middle, with various sculptures scattered about and tapestries decorating the walls. Rowyn scanned the room. It appeared as if no one lived in it, except for the bed in the corner where Keelia lay facing the wall, her back to him. She still wore the leather leggings and black shirt she was wearing the day she had been taken captive. Several torn dresses were bunched up on the floor at the bottom of the bed.

Rowyn stepped over to the round table and nudged the tray, the food looked as if it had barely been touched. You have to eat to keep up your strength.

The deep animal-like sound was no more than what he had expected. He rarely got more than a grunt after they had crossed the Wailing Straits. He almost missed that first week of screaming and accusations...almost.

I would free you if I could. He repeated what he had said daily since she had recovered from the worst of her wounds.

Keelia shifted but remained turned away from him.

I know you think me a traitor. He had never tried to explain his motives, but it made him sick that she thought him a monster.

She spun over and sat up. What can you say? That there was a good reason you betrayed Willoe, Casandra, Dougal… he could see her eyes well up, and me.

I… Rowyn faltered. He realized there was nothing he could say that would make sense.

Don’t. Keelia stood, shook her head, her voice strained, Don’t give me your empty lies. Be honorable enough to take responsibility for the suffering you’ve caused.

I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt.

But they did. Her indictment stung. And how many others will pay the price of your betrayal? How many will die? Ten? A hundred? A thousand?

I don’t intend to cause harm. He also could not have foreseen that Ishkand would have killed Arrick’s father, Lord Junge, nor the near death of Arrick and Keelia herself.

We’ve seen the results of your intentions. Kellia sat back down at the end of the bed. Leave. The air has suddenly become tainted and is making me ill.

Keelia.

Leave. I’ve nothing to say to you, and I don’t want to hear more of your lies. She turned to face the wall, her back to him.

Rowyn stood for a long moment. His shoulders fell, and he left the room. He stood outside and stared at the closed door for a several heartbeats. His thoughts were so consumed with Keelia’s scorn that he turned away and took two steps, oblivious to the young man passing by. They collided. The other man, a noble by his dress, stumbled backwards.

Rowyn grabbed the noble by the arm and kept him from falling. The young lord had curly flaxen hair and full lips, rather handsome, though Rowyn had the impression the man was easily rattled as the noble’s eyes went wide, shaken from the light jolt. Rowyn remembered Ishkand’s warning and yanked his hood up over his head, something he was told to do whenever in public. Excuse my recklessness, Lord...

Lord Percy, the young noble said, still flustered.

Well, pardon my woolgathering, Lord Percy. My mind was far away. Please accept my apology. Rowyn bowed his hooded head slightly.

Not to be bothered, Percy responded with a smile honed from years working for his uncle in the court. It was trivial, Lord...

Without answering Rowyn nodded again, then walked away, immediately forgetting the incident.

‘Humph," Percy snorted softly after Rowyn was out of hearing, shook his head, and went on his way. However, he wondered about the stranger. He didn’t often see someone with flaming red hair. And the eyes. Green like an emerald, but there was a darkness behind them that gave Percy the shivers.

Once in his own apartment, Rowyn dismissed his staff and sat in a tall chair in front of the hearth. He stared into the flames as if they could absorb his sins.

What am I doing? he questioned the fire. Am I becoming the monster she thinks I am? The more times he crossed into the Shadows, the more he could feel the Shikigam il consuming his body. He could sense the stain on his own Spirit that he admitted he welcomed, though there was a sliver of himself—ever so small—which remained locked away, untouched by the foulness that threatened to overtake him. A part without memory that had become a mystery to even him.

Day 258

Willoe: Change in Plans

Willoe rolled her shoulders to release the tension before nodding to the guard to open the door. A chaos of voices filled the room and assaulted her as she stepped into the small chamber.

More than a dozen people stood around the large table, with just as many divided into several smaller groups to either side. They encompassed the bulk of commanders that would be leading the expedition forces. It was the first time they had all gathered together, and Willoe hadn’t met half of them before today.

Multiple discussions ensued as those around the table looked down at a map of eastern Taran. Pages moved small carved pieces around Castle White Cliffs, Sur Terre Bay, as directed by a flinty looking elderly man who stood on the other side of the table. More of the pieces sat in harbors south and north of the capital.

The sculpted figures represented different military units participating in the expedition—troops from all three Taran kingdoms: dragons for Cainwen, lions for Franchon, and hawks for Haldane. A lone eagle with spread wings was the symbol used for her cousin, Aeron and his five hundred Tonn nomadic warriors.

There were even a variety of figurines that stood for the different companies of sellswords. Included were Armel’s company, the Bloody Sun, and Captain Niska’s, the Black Ravens, both hired by Lord Vagel in Haldane. But also, three more companies had signed on for a fee after being defeated by the Tarans at The Battle of Tierran’s Wall.

Different-sized wood markers portrayed the ships that would be used for crossing the Wailing Straits. Sur Terre Harbor was filled with them. Unfortunately, most of the largest ones still sat in northern Franchon and southern Haldane waiting for a change in the weather.

Doy stood just inside the door, waiting for Willoe.

She reached out her hand and briefly touched his arm.

Princess Willoe, a page announced.

Willoe straightened and stepped forward. Doy’s artificial metal leg made a dull thump-click on the marbled floor as he followed her. It reminded Willoe of how she had almost lost him when they had been attacked by the vicious creatures, the Blood Stalkers.

Heads lifted and turned to watch Willoe cross the room.

Willoe, her Uncle Dougal, Prince and Heir Apparent to the Haldane throne, as well as Willoe’s childhood Protector, was the first to speak. It would have been Princess Willoe or Your Royal Highness in a more formal setting. If alone, it would have been Wil. Word be coming that the channel finally be clearing.

Cleric Yoan’s prediction of an early thaw was promising only to be dashed by a late winter storm that had raged along the coast from well south of White Cliffs up to Honor Bay in Haldane.

Willoe had hoped to have set sail by now and her patience was waning as her twin, Rowyn’s absence occupied her mind daily.

We be launching the fleet within two weeks. Dougal ran his finger from Sur Terre Harbor, which lay below the white cliffs that gave the castle its name, across the Wailing Straits to the coast of the mainland, Kieran, and into Finger Bay. They would land on the northern shores just west of the border with the Kingdom of Fleuveral in the Kingdom of Reinlanden.

We must be ready sooner. Three days, Willoe declared to the surprise of the leaders in the room.

Impossible, Lord Setton blurted. He was a seasoned Haldane admiral and directed the fleet. White-haired, scars of old combat crossed his face that were indiscernible from the lines that told his age. It had been Lord Setton’s responsibility to oversee assembling the armada. He had defined the fleet’s requirements and obtained the necessary ships, mostly from Franchon and Haldane, to transport the ten thousand troops, half again that number in camp followers, along with animals and supplies for the entire army.

Everyone stared at the elderly man.

A woman, who Willoe didn’t recognize, stood next to the admiral. She looked to be at least a half-dozen years older than Willoe, maybe a little more. She was attractive and matched Willoe in height, the width of several fingers taller than most females. The woman was dressed like the admiral. A tabard of medium blue worn over a white shirt, and the white armorial insignia of Haldane, an attacking hawk, on the right breast. Her shapely figured evident even under the tabard. Another Haldane Shield stood on the other side of the admiral. She recognized him as Lord Blair who had fought alongside them at Tierran’s Wall.

The woman quickly leaned over and whispered into the admiral’s ear.

Blair scowled at her, but she lifted her head defiantly and looked away.

The admiral quickly cleared his throat, then bowed to Willoe. Beg ye pardon, Your Royal Highness. He tried to smile, but it was an unfamiliar gesture as it came off as a lopsided smirk. There be not enough ships for the entire army for another week. Some be arriving from the north where the winter ice be still breaking.

How many do you have now? Willoe knew her request would not be readily accepted, but she was determined. Too much time had already passed since Raken’s father’s coronation, and Willoe could barely Sense Rowyn’s Spirit. It didn’t feel as if he was far away, but more as if it were somehow partially obscured.

I… The lord hesitated, frowned, then motioned for a page to hand him several scrolls from another table. Lord Setton spread them out and flipped from one to another of the documents. His lips moved as he silently read numbers, places, and dates from the papers.

Lord Blair and the woman leaned in with him, the three talking, the woman pointed at something in one of the scrolls.

The Shield shook his head disapproving and pointed to something else.

This time the woman’s head shook as she stabbed her finger on the paper.

The admiral’s head swung from one to the other as he spoke to them, and they leaned back. He rolled up the documents and put them to the side.

Our largest transport ships be berthed in ports to the north. The lord pointed to several smaller ports between the Franchon capital and the Haldane capital to the north where the larger wooden ship markers had been placed. The Kegtiles be finding safer anchorage to sit out the winter and be having short notice to prepare to sail. They be carrying most of the supplies and the mounts for the troops and the barbarians.

The Tonn, Lord Setton, Aeron corrected the admiral.

The nomadic warriors had been a headache for both the kingdoms of Cainwen and Franchon to the south of the Open Lands, but mountains and Tierran’s Wall had kept them relatively at bay. Haldane, however, shared the north and a complicated heritage with the Tonn Tribes, creating a conflict going back many generations.

Pardon. Yes, of course, the Tonn, Lord Aeron. Lord Setton nodded to Aeron respectfully.

Willoe glanced to her left at Aeron still somewhat mystified by her cousin. She found it hard to believe that he had been killed and brought back to life by the Goddess. Willoe was there when his Spirit had been drained by a Shin-il Priest, his body limp, his heart stilled. Yet, here he now stood, though transformed. When the Tonn had ridden up at the end of the Battle of Tierran’s Wall, and their leader, the Ohmyilk, had removed his headdress, she immediately recognized him in spite of the long white hair and darkened skin. More of his memory appeared to be returning every day, but she could sense he was torn between his old life as the son of the Cainwen First Duke and his new one with the nomadic tribes.

The admiral nodded again then returned his attention to the princess. They be traveling with their horses. We be using smaller ships, mostly Calbegs, to transport the majority of the troops, but be requiring Kegtiles for the remaining troops and camp followers along with the bulk of the supplies and animals. Both be flat-bottom boats to unload on the beaches of Reinlanden.

Willoe fidgeted. After the spy’s arrival, she and Doy had reviewed the status of the ships, manpower, and supplies. It was what had driven her decision.

Word arrived this morning from Kieran. She paused and scanned the men, ensuring her gaze met each of their eyes. Prince Rowyn is in the Fleuveral capital of Logoria. But we don’t know for how long.

We all know how eager you are to rescue your brother. Prince Patric, who still went by Raken, second son of the Franchon king, pursed his mouth, hesitated, then continued, But there’s more at stake here.

The Priests be unrelenting, Dougal stared at Willoe and tried to kindly remind her of a primary reason for the Taran army’s expedition.

The Priests had left spies behind, as was expected. However, Cian and Casandra used their connection with the Spirits to quickly unmask the Priests’ agents. The operatives were most informative and the leader of the cell, a senior Priest named Rajam-Jin was pulled off a ship moments before it was due to cast off lines from the wharf. The man turned out to have been the aide to the infamous Chuluun-Uul and was more than willing to share what he knew.

The most distressing thing he disclosed was that the Priests’ intended to return sooner than any of them expected. He said that Chuluun-Uul had received a missive from Dakho-Uul, the head Priest in Fleuveral, who was coordinating all the Priests’ efforts in Western Kieran. Rajam-Jin read all the communications, including unofficial ones, without Chuluun-Uul’s knowledge. He told Cian that Dakho-Uul planned to marshal their forces in Fleuveral and draw in additional troops from Breanseth, Anhel Kraj, and possibly the Priests’ homeland in the Tianti Empire to launch a massive invasion against Taran in the summer.

Everyone’s agreed to the plan, Your Royal Highness. Lord Brisson, Raken’s second for the expedition and the day-to-day commander of the Franchon Foot, bowed politely, but added firmly, To change the schedule could risk the entire expedition.

The kingdoms of Taran needed more time to recover. While Willoe’s main goal was to rescue her twin brother, the leaders of the Taran kingdoms had decided to take the fight to the Priests. The small army would sail across the Wailing Straits, break into smaller units, and cause havoc throughout northern Fleuveral, forcing the Priests to fight on multiple fronts. The idea being to create widespread pandemonium before retreating back to Taran. Hopefully, it would delay the Priests’ plans and give the kingdoms just enough time to prepare for the new invasion.

Willoe focused unblinking on Lord Setton, her frustration seething just below the surface. I ask again My Lord. How many?

The admiral glanced back at Blair first, then the woman with a grim expression, before turning toward Willoe. We be not positive but be likely fifty Calbegs and thirty-five smaller vessels. His battle-hardened eyes returned her stare. They be carrying 6,500 troops with supplies for several days. It be the end of the week to prepare them and load. Five days. The rest be lagging by three to six days if the weather be holding.

Then we can depart in five days without endangering the plan. Willoe and Doy had figured that would be the minimum required, but he had convinced her to request three days and then settle for five. The first wave could land and hold the beach. While we wait for the rest of the army to arrive, a small force could race to Logoria, and free Rowyn before the Priests gather their reinforcements. The Priests wouldn’t be expecting us. It would cause chaos. She stared at Dougal and tried not to let her voice break. Isn’t that the mission?

The room was silent for a moment until Dougal stated, Then five days.

In five days, Raken nodded, and the decision was made.

Lord Setton, Dougal addressed the Haldane lord without looking over at him.

At your command, Your Highness. Lord Setton bowed to Dougal. He inclined his head to Raken and Willoe before he left the chamber to execute the revised plan.

It signaled the end of the meeting and most of the attendees drifted out.

The woman was starting to leave, then stopped as she was passing and turned toward Willoe. She had the most brilliant smile that made Willoe want to smile in return. The woman bowed her head then said, Your Highness. I regret that there hasn’t been time for me to be officially introduced to you.

It took Willoe a moment to respond as the Haldane woman’s Common Tongue was better than Willoe’s with no hint of the Haldane accent. I admit I was surprised to see a woman among this company, Willoe’s eyes glanced at the men, most much older than herself, as they departed.

I believe before he departed to Haldane, that my brother mentioned I would be joining your expedition. Her lips twisted and her nose crinkled.

Willoe pressed her lips together. She tried to remember who might have told her about the woman. She shook her head slightly with her lips in a frown. I don’t remember—

Lord Arrick? the woman provided; her brows rose as she offered a questioning gaze.

Lord Arrick! Willoe was confused, then remembered what Doy had told her. He had mentioned that a younger sibling, Ser Kalan, would be commanding the Haldane Horse. Arrick boasted that he was the finest of the Cold Steel. I just naturally assumed Kalan was… She let out a long breath, embarrassed.

Arrick tends to exaggerate, though there are few that can out ride me or are better with a bow. The woman smirked and shook her head. It sounds just like my brother to be ambiguous. He actually thinks he’s funny. She bowed. I am Ser Kallan Colum. Then rose, the winsome smile had returned. Kallan with two L’s.

Willoe nodded appropriately in return. Now that she knew, it was easy for her to see the resemblance. Kallan had the same sky-blue eyes, high cheek bones, and reddish-blond locks as her brother, but her hair was longer, braided half-way down her back. Willoe also noticed the crest over the right breast, the crossed sword and pike in front of a snow-covered mountain, the heraldry of the Cold Steel.

Willoe answered with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. I’m pleased to have you as part of our company.

It’s my pleasure Your Highness.

Willoe tried to recover after the faux pax, thanks to Arrick, whom she planned to have a few words with the next time she saw him. She said in a soft voice, I have to say I’m a little caught off guard by your accent, or lack thereof.

I’ve traveled quite often and spent some time in Franchon and a couple of trips to Fort Winterpass. Kallan didn’t seem to be boasting, just explaining. As a child, my tutor was from Western Kieran and thought it important I be able to speak without what many people consider my people’s odd grammar and pronunciation. She grinned. I be speaking as a Haldane if I be needing.

Willoe chuckled. Well said, Ser Kallan.

Just Kallan if it pleases Your Highness.

And call me Willoe. She glanced around the near empty room. It was a given that the informality would only apply in private.

As you wish, Willoe.

Ser Kallan, Lord Blair called from the hallway.

The woman’s face unexpectantly brightened for a moment at the summons, then she grimaced and sighed.

It was a pleasure to meet you, Kallan. Willoe nodded to allow the woman to leave.

And I you as well, Willoe. Though she spoke informally, she still bowed before she quickly turned and left.

Willoe was confused by Kalan’s initial reaction to Blair’s summons, considering their interaction earlier around the admiral.

After Kallan had exited the room, the elder elfar Cian stepped up before Willoe.

Dougal, Raken, and the Shield, Ser Rhein came up as well.

The sellsword, Captain Darcio Armel, completed the half-circle of men in front of her. Armel pursed his lips and scratched the side of his head through the close-cropped blond hair.

What is it, Armel? Willoe noticed the sellswords uneasiness.

I’ve been to Logoria. Armel shook his head as he continued, It won’t be easy. The small group had become Willoe’s extended family; royal protocol had been banished a long time ago—their mutual battle experiences and shared losses made informality a necessity.

I know it won’t be easy, Willoe admitted, but didn’t show any signs of relenting.

I don’t think you grasp the extent of what you’re proposing. Armel shook his head; he knew that continuing to explain would be futile.

The Lady will provide, Casandra said as she entered the chamber, a handful of three-foot tall creatures trailed close behind her. The exotic looking Surikatts never failed to amaze Willoe. With slender bodies, narrow limbs, and long thin tails, they moved quickly, occasionally rising on their hind legs; their heads whipped from side to side ever vigilant. They, along with their handler Ucci, had become her cousin’s constant guardians ever since she had been anointed as the new Ainglean.

Willoe put thumb, index, and middle finger together. She touched her head then put them to her lips where she kissed them and finally placed them on her heart. With them resting on her heart, she whispered, Burning Lady protect us.

The blessing was repeated by the others in the room, which ended the discussion as no one wanted to argue with the Ainglean.

As they left, Willoe leaned in toward her cousin and whispered, How do you know Cas?

Casandra had been overly serious of late. The responsibility of being named the Ainglean weighed heavily on her cousin. So, Willoe was surprised when her cousin turned to her and smiled, her voice laced with some of the playfulness that had always been her nature, The Lady will provide.

Day 260

Gened: Port Ornelas

Bat-Uul sat on a crate as he ate a meal of fresh smoked mackerel, a nice change from salted cod. They had not eaten fish at the temple in Avanis when he was a simple Initiate and later as a Jin Priest. Even during his time as a Uul at Castle White Cliffs he seldom had any, so a steady diet of cod was making him irritable.

Soaked in brine did little to improve the intense fishy taste. When he had come west, he had traveled by land until he reached the Wailing Straits, a very different experience than sailing on the ocean around the horn of Cueron.

He put his plate on the crate and looked down the wharf to the town of Port Ornelas. The dock was crowded with workers loading and unloading ships as it had been every day since their ship had off-loaded its freight, taken on new cargo, then moved away from the pier. Docking fees were expensive in the most prominent port on the island. Well before the last full moon, the Sea Eagle had moved to anchorage in the harbor and waited for its captain to return. It had only been two moons since fleeing White Cliffs, but to Bat-Uul, it seemed like a lifetime.

He had been too young when he had been elevated to Uul, a station he hadn’t deserved. The events at White Cliffs proved that. His faith in the Shin-il Way had been tested, and he wavered. He had covered up the death of his supervisor, Dimah-Uul, and disobeyed Dimah-Uul’s superior, Chuluun-Uul, though their actions were the mainspring for his doubt. He exhaled a soft moan as it all seemed impossible, yet all too real. Someone approached from the shore end of the dock, and he looked up.

Enzo Bat-Uul greeted the sailor from the Sea Eagle as the man quickly passed him and headed down the pier away from town.

Gened, the man responded without stopping, evidently on a mission.

After leaving White Cliffs, Bat-Uul had thrown his red robes overboard and took the dress of the seamen. His beard had filled in, and he had let his hair grow out. He also used the name he went by before becoming a Uul…Gened.

A short time later the Sea Eagle’s Second Mate, Teodoro hurried back up the pier with Enzo in tow. The Second Mate was a towering man whose long cold stare would make most men wet themselves, though Gened knew better. Luckily, Teodoro was originally from Astuto, near the border with Avanis, and the two men found much to talk about, though much of the communication was by sporadic words and gestures as Teodoro understood the Common Tongue more than he could speak it.

Where are you going in such a rush? Gened asked as the two men continued past him toward town. Both moved quickly but tried not to run.

Be ready, Teodoro called over his shoulder, but not too loudly.

Gened stared after them as they disappeared among the white-washed buildings of the harbor, not sure what he was supposed to be ready for.

Maybe it was the important cargo that Captain Mongelli had consistently stated he was waiting on. The captain never explained what the shipment was, which added to Gened’s frustration since the Sea Eagle’s hold was already crammed with a variety of goods.

How long do you think we’ll remain here? Gened didn’t look down at Prince Mael, who lounged on a stack of bags, probably oat or grain; his eyes closed.

The prince seemed unconcerned about the delay, but then, he wasn’t the one the captain had declared was the reason for their rescue, or abduction, Gened thought sourly. As often as Gened had asked, the captain’s response was ‘They paid a lot to deliver you’ which left him to wonder at who ‘they’ were and why they wanted him so badly.

I imagine that is up to the good captain, Mael answered without moving.

What could he be waiting for? Gened spoke the thought. All the cargo is loaded.

Evidently not all of it, the prince’s casual response did little to soothe Gened’s annoyance. He looked down at Mael as his brows contracted into a scowl.

The prince’s relaxed demeanor still baffled Gened. It did not fit with the Mael, who murdered Dimah-Uul and Caspar-Jin. Not murder…execution, Gened reminded himself, though the difference was something he told himself to keep from condemning his companion.

Gened was surprised when Captain Mongelli agreed to let Mael go ashore upon their previous docking in Cueron, regardless that the prince swore he would not desert them. Two sailors followed, demonstrating the captain was willing to extend his trust only so far. Gened silently scolded himself that he was shocked when Mael returned as promised. He had no doubt the prince could have lost his escort if he had desired.

But Mael had taken to shipboard and now dockside routine with vigor. There wasn’t a task that he avoided, whether stringing lines, furling the sails, or loading cargo. His skin had darkened under the constant sun, a tribute to his hard work alongside the seamen. When asked, he said that he never passed on an opportunity to learn something new. A close-cropped beard completed the transformation.

I think I’ll wander through the stalls and see if there’s anything new, Mael stretched, stood, and brushed off his pants. You want to come along?

No thanks. I’ll wait here, Gened replied and followed it with another frustrated sigh. He no longer worried if the prince would return, and he had little interest in bartering with the crafty sellers.

The prince shrugged and casually strolled toward the shore-side market that spread out, providing a wide assortment of goods.

Gened watched him disappear into the canyon of booths. The prince had never been overweight. He had trained regularly in the Pell with sword and lance. However, he had become even more slender with the hard work aboard ship, his shoulders and chest broadening. The Brynmor line was renowned for their favorable presence, but the physical changes only enhanced what was already a striking and stately appearance.

By the virtue of being forced together for over six moons, Gened had come to know the man more intimately than any other in his life. It had been a strained relationship at first, but over time they had become close. What he once thought of as bravado and contentiousness he now saw was self-assurance and persistence. Their shared exploits, surviving Chuluun-Uul’s machinations, then a near escape from White Cliffs, had built an undeniable bond between them.

Gened bit his lip and continued to stare at the market as if he could see Mael moving among the booths. Scores of stalls filled the area between the banks of the harbor and the warehouses where merchants stored their newly arrived goods or those waiting to be shipped. His desire to leave the port and confront those that had paid for his passage had become an obsession that consumed his thoughts.

Why the forlorn look Monsieur, a soft female voice spoke from behind him on the wharf. Your bel ami will return shortly.

Gened swiveled to see a woman; her bright amused expression instantly made him return the smile. She had light brown hair, large greenish-brown eyes with a fine nose and brow; lush and olive tinted skin slightly tanned. She was dressed in traditional Andorran garb, a long medium-blue dress of the high-waisted style with the fullness over the belly. The neckline was cut low enough to reveal the yellow-colored kirtle beneath. She carried a basket on one arm.

I’m sorry. Bel ami? Gened stood and brushed off his pants.

Your handsome friend. There is little interest in the marketplace today.

Was he staring after Mael? He felt embarrassed but tried not to let the concern show. Pardon my dour appearance. I’m just feeling melancholy today.

Pas besoin de s’excuser. No need to apologize. Some days are made to be pensive others are to be savored. Her grin widened, she reached into the basket, pulled out a tart and handed it to him. Today is to be savored.

Thank you. He took the tart. Glazed strawberries in a firm crust sprinkled with crushed nuts. He inhaled and closed his eyes. The pastry had the aroma of sweet freshness. He took a bite. Hmmm.

I’m glad it agrees with you. She chuckled.

He reached into his shirt where he kept his small coin purse. Please let me pay you.

No. She held up her hand still smiling. Seeing your pleasure is payment enough.

They call me Gened. He bowed gratefully.

She glanced around and said with a sly grin, I won’t say what some of the locals’ call me, but I go by Desaree.

He laughed at her jest. Desaree it is then.

He swallowed another bite, then said, The tart is delicious. I’ve never had one like it.

It’s from my homeland. A special recipe that the cook…I mean my mother used to make. Her smile twisted slyly.

I didn’t have the impression you were an Andorran. Gened immediately liked this woman. She seemed so friendly and easy to talk with.

I came here… she hesitated; her lips shifted uneasily. It’s been a while. Please enjoy the tart and savor the beautiful day. I’m sure he’ll return soon. She turned around and started to walk back up the wharf away from the shore.

I’m sorry… He hoped he hadn’t said anything to offend her. Thank you again, he called to her receding back.

She waved a hand above her head in response but did not turn around to answer.

He sat, finished the tart, and wiped the strawberry juice from his mouth with a cloth. He sighed, feeling better, the dark thoughts fading, though her comment about Mael still bothered him at a deeper level.

Might as well walk, he spoke to the air and stood. They might have received another shipment of Sāhasī, he convinced himself as he started for the market. It was expensive, being imported from his homeland of Avanis, but the familiar wine gave him a sense of comfort in the chaos that had become his life. A smile creased his lips. Maybe Mael will share with me.

He had reached the head of the wharf where it met the shore when he spotted Captain Mongelli coming from the port city. A hooded figure, that only came up to the captain’s shoulder, walked at his side; they both moved briskly. The long cape hung down to the person’s feet, dirty and worn.

I must ask once again Captain— Gened began what he knew would be a futile request, but the captain walked right past him and called over his shoulder.

Quickly. To the boat, the urgency in the captain’s tone shook Gened. It was in direct contrast with Captain Mongelli’s normal, but irritating, casual attitude. The captain did not slow as he stepped onto the wooden planks and continued down the pier.

Gened stared after the captain and the shrouded figure. He snapped his head toward the market. Mael, he whispered, then turned back and yelled to the captain, Erwin is still in the market. It was the name used by Mael while off the ship to hide his identity, his great-grandfather’s.

Captain Mongelli stopped and turned around; he pinched the bridge of his nose as if he were having some internal argument. After a moment’s hesitation he shouted back, Leave him. The captain didn’t wait to see if his command was followed, but instead continued down the pier.

I can’t, Gened shouted and shook his head. He no longer felt as if he was jailer, guardian, or whatever he had become to Mael before fleeing Taran, but he still felt a deep connection with the prince, though he couldn’t explain it.

The captain spun around and stared at Gened; his face hardened as if angered at being disobeyed.

The hooded person had stopped and turned around as well, then leaned in and whispered something into the captain’s ear.

Teodoro, the captain called and looked beyond Gened.

Gened whirled around.

Two stalwart men approached Gened before he could move. One was the hulking Second Mate, Teodoro, the other Enzo. They each grabbed one of Gened’s arms and wheeled him around.

Captain say we leaving, Priest, Teodoro said with a smile as the two seamen hauled Gened between them toward Captain Mongelli and the hooded figure.

Resistance was out of the question as a moment’s struggle only resulted in the men tightening their grip on Gened’s arms.

They moved rapidly to the tender tied up two-thirds of the way down the wharf. Six of the Sea Eagle crew were already in the small boat, oars in place and ready to pull away from the dock.

Captain Mongelli and the hooded figure quickly stepped aboard.

Gened glanced back up the pier to the market, hoping for some sight of Mael.

His view was cut off by the large second mate. Sorry, Captain order, Teodoro’s voice wasn’t harsh, the words said like someone would state a well-known fact as the second mate pointed to the waiting tender.

Once everyone was seated and the boat pushed away from the dock, the second mate called out for the sailors to pull, Far passare. The oars swung forward and dipped into the water then stroked back as the tender swept ahead.

I should have stayed with him, Gened blamed himself and gritted his teeth in anger. He was my responsibility, he growled at the captain sitting in front of him.

But not mine. Captain Mongelli glanced over his shoulder. There’s always some cargo lost during a voyage. His eyes returned to the stern of the boat and the port city.

A disturbance on the wharf interrupted any response Gened might have had. He looked back at the pier to see Mael racing toward them with a dozen of the Port Ornelas’ Watch in pursuit. At the forefront of the Watch was a man with his black robe flapping in the wind—a Shin-il Jin Priest.

Turn around, it’s the prince, Gened stood up and yelled at the captain.

Teodoro quickly pulled him back down.

Pull, the captain commanded, and the sailors complied—the tender lifted and moved faster.

No! Gened screamed. The Lady burn you, he screamed at the captain, Teodoro’s grip on his shoulders the only restraint keeping him from reaching Captain Mongelli.

There’s no place for him to go, Gened stated quietly and watched Mael as the prince ran toward the dock where the tender had been tied up.

The prince passed a large crate and suddenly a dozen bales, wrapped in cloth to protect whatever was inside, rolled off the top of the wooden box and bounced across the planks helter-skelter blocking the way.

The Priest stumbled over one bundle then fell forward as he stepped awkwardly on another. He fell on his chest and face. The men behind stopped short of the wreckage.

Gened’s eyes flashed back to the crate in time to see a woman wipe her hands on her medium-blue dress then bend over and pick up her basket. It was Desaree. She looked to either side then slipped back away from the scene to blend in with the crowd that was forming to see what was happening.

He returned his attention to the screaming Priest as the man rose to his feet, it looked as if he had blood on his face. He shouted at the Watch who took their time and walked carefully over and around the bales.

Don’t give up on your friend just yet, the hooded stranger told him without looking back. The voice was different than what Gened expected; eloquent, but something else he couldn’t pinpoint.

Gened was stunned as Mael didn’t slow when he reached the edge of the pier. Instead, he dove out over the dock and disappeared beneath the waves of the harbor. A moment later, he surfaced and stroked hard toward the tender.

Hold water, Captain Mongelli yelled, and the second mate repeated in the crew’s native tongue. As if they were a single entity, the seamen completed the stroke, stopped rowing, and dropped their blades into the water vertically. They held their oars tight against the tender’s forward movement, letting the blades gradually work back toward the stern. The maneuver quickly slowed the boat, and Mael reached them within a few moments.

Teodoro and another seaman pulled the prince out of the water, and Mael dropped down on the seat next to Gened with a smile—water came over the side with the prince and splashed covering Gened’s lap.

Far passare, the Second Mate ordered again.

Put your backs into it boys, the captain encouraged, and the tender sped out to the ship.

Gened glanced around at the dock. The Jin Priest and the Watch stood where the tender had been docked. The black-robed man argued with the soldiers who didn’t seem inclined to dive into the water after their prey that sped on its way to the Sea Eagle at anchor. Gened looked up and down the wharf and tried to find Desaree again, but she had disappeared. He couldn’t help but smile.

Captain Mongelli and the hooded figure climbed up the netting and over the railing, followed by Gened and Mael. While the rest of the tender’s crew came on board, and secured the tender, the First Mate, a short bald-headed man ordered the Boatswain to raise the anchor and unfurl the sails.

His wet leggings and the bottom of his soaked coat pulled on Gened as he stood in a circle with the captain, the prince, and the hooded stranger.

What were you doing? Gened tried to ignore his sagging clothes and demanded with a glare at Mael.

A grin filled the prince’s face as he pulled out a watertight pouch of tanned and oiled leather. A pouch was one of the first things Gened and Mael had obtained during their initial trip ashore. It was part of every sailor’s kit. Mael opened it and pulled out a rolled paper. He unfurled it and turned the sheet around to show the other three.

Good likeness don’t you think. On the paper was a detailed portrait of the prince with a notice declaring anyone finding him would be rewarded. The amount equaled twice the value of the cargo in the Sea Eagle’s hold.

Is that why they were chasing you? Gened pointed back to the dock, which was falling behind as the ship rode on the waves out of the harbor.

It’s possible, but more likely they were looking for me, the mysterious figure spoke and pulled back their hood. Black hair fell over the woman’s shoulders to rest upon her chest. She had brown eyes, full lips, and high cheek bones.

Gened realized what had bothered him about the stranger’s voice earlier. It had been higher pitched than a man and she a little too slender than most men.

And I suggest you do not curse my favorite general. The woman looked over at Captain Mongelli. Her voice sounded tired, but she managed to put on a soft smile. He may seem coarse at times, but when it comes to the Goddess, he is exceedingly faithful.

Captain Mongelli put his thumb, index and middle fingers together and touched his forehead. He then lowered the fingers to his mouth, kissed them. He ended with the fingers against his heart. While doing this, he whispered, Burning Lady protect us.

Many followed the Lady, as Gened had discovered, especially in Western Kieran and on Taran. He was, however, surprised by the captain’s devotional gesture. It was out of character for the man—at least the image of a tough rogue that Gened had developed of the man.

General? Mael’s head tilted, his eyebrows narrowed, and he stared at Mongelli.

The Sea Eagle is my current post, so Captain will suffice.

And who are you a General for? Gened looked from the woman to the captain. The enigma of Mongelli’s nature would have to wait as Gened was also interested in the hooded stranger and her revelation.

Mongelli frowned, but the stranger smirked and answered, The Meridionale Confederation. But please let me introduce myself. She nodded respectfully. I am Senator Oriana DiMare of Astuto. Unlike Mongelli, who had just the hint of an accent, she spoke the Common Tongue flawlessly.

Astuto? Mael’s face now turned toward Oriana.

It is part of the Meridionale Confederation, Gened provided. It borders Avanis. Well not Astuto itself, but Forza—it is the most eastern state within the Confederation.

Then our destination is this, Astuto? The prince nodded with pursed lips. Interesting.

Actually, we’re going to Armonia, the Confederation capital, Oriana corrected. The Senator’s eyes scanned Gened from toe to head. So, this is Gened, the one you were sent to retrieve. Then she glanced over at Mael. And you must be the Taran prince whom Mongelli told me about.

Mael’s grin returned, wider than before. Prince Mael, though lately I’ve answered to Erwin.

From our recent adventure… Oriana turned her head to look out across the water at the wharf falling behind then swung around toward Mael. It appears the stories are true.

I would be unworthy to mislead you Senator, Mongelli snorted as some joke passed between the captain and the senator. His attitude shifted as he walked past the others and looked out at the horizon beyond the bow. We have a long voyage ahead of us laden with many dangers.

I thought the worst of the winter weather would be over, Mael questioned.

They are. That is not what worries me. Mongelli continued to stare out at the harbor entrance for a moment longer, then glanced over his shoulder at Gened and the other two. His voice was