This would have been my room, she thought.
“Would you stay here a moment, Talone?” Ani said. She left the main room for the changing room and found a wardrobe full of gowns that when rustled released the sweet, sharp scents of cloves and lavender. Not all the dresses she had brought from Kildenree were hanging from the steel hooks. Most noticeably the gold-and-white one was absent, the one the thread-mistress had intended for her bridal gown. Ani took down the pale lake green dress that had been dyed to match her eyes, held it to her chest, and looked at the long mirror. She thought, I look like a goose girl holding up a fancy dress.
Ani pulled loose her headscarf and let it fall to the floor. “I will not hide anymore,” she said to her reflection. Two feet, one in the mirror and one in the world, kicked the scarf aside. Her hair, braided up, had loosened, and its weight pulled it out of its plait and off her head. She picked up one of Selia’s—one of her—brushes, silver plated, the face of a horse a rigid knob on its handle, and broke her snarls loose. The sun was dipping low in the west and sent a lustrous orange glow from the horizon to her hair. She moved, and it flashed gold in the light. She held up the dress against her now, the ray of setting sun brightening her eyes, painting her face a yellow rose, regal as her mother.
“But different,” she whispered. “Not her. Me. Ani. Isi.”
She carefully folded the green dress and wrapped it up in linen she stripped from the princess’s bedchamber. She took only one swift, envious glance at the mattress two hands high and let her body briefly ache at that sight, her back and legs still sensing every slat of her little bed that leaned up against the west wall.
Ani had just uncovered a pair of calfskin slippers dyed beech bark gray when she heard from the other room the sound of metal jarring against metal. She peered through the door. Talone stood in the center of the room with exposed sword, his expression deadly, and before him stood Ishta.
Ishta closed the door behind him and locked it with an unsettling click. He smiled, and Ani remembered the stink of his mouth when he’d held her hand to his lips at wintermoon, I will bite off a finger and his teeth, crooked and brown, giving the impression that the man was rotting from the inside.
“Alive, I see,” said Ishta, his eyes on his former captain. He pulled his sword from its scabbard and shifted it against the sunlight, reflecting beams on Talone’s face like pale, cancerous patches. “How lovely. I love that repeating dream where I get to kill you again and again.”
“Ishta,” said Ani.
He saw her and his brow raised, surprised but not displeased.
“For honor’s sake, Princess,” said Talone, “I ask to fight him alone.” Ani understood he did not wish for a wind to push the fight in his favor, and she nodded.
“Yes, no calling for help, little princess,” said Ishta. “The good captain wishes to die in private.” He smiled at Talone. “I hope you are not still upset about my killing Dano that day in the forest. I seem to recall that just because all Dano had to defend himself was his cooking knife, you put up such a stink. That is, until Ungolad ran you through.”
Talone’s temper did not display itself on his face. He gripped the hilt and swayed a moment on his feet, as though testing the strength of the floor. Then his blade rose, slicing through the beam of sunlight and falling hard on Ishta, his own blade held out in front of him, his smile twisted into a scowl. Ishta returned the hack, and the metal rang together, a mortal bell. Neither spoke. It was not a game of young warriors testing their strength or a match of pride, but a bout of death, each warrior watching his opponent’s eyes, fighting to end that life, their swords desperate vessels of their will. With each blow the other hoped to meet flesh, and each blow brought sword on sword, and the clanging was a wicked rhythm. Ani could not help the trembling in her legs, but she dared not sit. The force of Ishta’s strike pushed Talone to the ground. He held him there, his sword pressing Talone’s defense closer to his throat. Ishta glanced up at Ani, and for one moment the expression in his eyes said, Next. You’re next.
Talone thrust the guard backward and against a thin-legged table that splintered and sank under his weight. Talone took the moment to gain his feet before Ishta’s blade was drawn high and striking against his own. The guard had fire in his eyes, and he yelled in anger at every thrust that was countered, again, again, again, until he drove his blade with full force toward Talone’s breast. Talone dodged the thrust bodily. Ishta had swung too hard, expecting to be stopped by Talone’s blade. The weight of his sword and the momentum pulled him forward, and he stumbled. Talone turned, smooth as a diving hawk, and put his sword tip through Ishta’s body. Through his back and into his heart, as Ishta had done in the Forest to young Adon months ago. Ishta let out a high, quick gasp, crumpled face first on the floor, and did not move again.
“Talone,” said Ani.
“He was angry.” Talone’s breathing was heavy. “He should not have fought me angry.”
Talone dragged the body behind a low couch. Where Ishta had fallen lay a small pool of blood, dark red on darker wood, like a new moon on a black sky. Talone sat on the edge of a delicate, bird-legged lounge and looked at that dark pool. This man, thought Ani, should have a home and a round-cheeked grandson on his knee, not a stained blade.
“Are you all right?”
“Better than I would be if he had got me first. I don’t like killing.”
Ani stood at the feet of the corpse, holding her bundle to her chest. “Should I cover him?”
“No, leave him be,” said Talone.
He stood and exchanged his Forest-wrought blade for the dead man’s truer steel, more like the sword he had carried as captain of the princess’s guard. It occurred to Ani that it might even be the same blade.
“Time we left.”
They abandoned Ishta to discovery sometime by some unlucky maid, closing the door behind them.
Chapter 19
In the yards, the stable-master, an older man with a young man’s head of hair and a distracted expression, was directing the preparation of a dozen horses, all short, skinny, or old, and at least one betrayed features of donkey heritage.
“That won’t be enough, Talone,” said Ani.
“Perhaps not,” he said, “but I would be surprised to find a dozen in our company that know riding.”
Ani and Talone approached, and the stable-master squinted his eyes at them and came forward, his gait awkward as a new colt.
“You responsible here?” he asked Talone.
“I am,” said Ani.
His face swung to hers, and he eyed her uncovered hair.
“Are these all the mounts you have available?” said Ani.
“Who are you?” The stable-master had a faint whine in his voice. “What’re these animals needed for?”
“Business of war,” said Ani. “And that’s all you need know when the prime minister orders. Now, we asked you concerning the mounts.”
Ani had hoped the bold words might not seem too silly coming from her and surprised herself at how natural they sounded. Talone looked at her, his eyes smiling.
“Look here,” said the stable-master, “most of the mounts’ve gone north, and we’ve got to keep a fair supply for messengers and emergencies, as the prime minister would know if he wasn’t so absorbed in war, war, war, and gave a thought to animals and common sense.”
“What about that one?” Ani pointed to a far stable near the one where she had seen Falada. A tall bay paced his enclosure.
“That horse’s not for riding, miss. He’s still wild, and doesn’t respond to less experienced riders.”
Ani smiled. “I’ve ridden him. I’ll take the bay.”
The stable-hands thought it would be good sport to let the yellow-haired girl saddle the bay herself, and they sat back, prepared to be amused. One called, “Watch those razor-sharp hooves now, little girl,” and others laughed. A few minutes later, Ani walked the bay out of the corral, his hooves lifting high as though on parade. Ani sm
iled from the saddle.
“Could you shut that gate for me? Thank you kindly.”
The jeering stopped, and the group of chagrined stable hands dispersed.
Talone, Finn, and Enna all mounted, Finn the most uneasily, gripping his docile mount so tightly that the animal did not know whether to run, buck, or sit still. The four led the remaining horses out to the front gate and were greeted by an astonished and delighted cheer. Those who could ride quickly volunteered to escort the princess north.
“Please be a truer escort than my first,” she said.
Among the volunteers was the palace guard Ratger.
“You’ll be expelled,” said one of his comrades. “You’ll be labeled a traitor and a post-quitter. You’ll never be allowed to enter a barrack or tavern again.”
“This’s the real princess,” said Ratger, mounting the last horse. “And a murderer and liar’s about to wed our prince and trick us into war. Tell me if my going isn’t fulfilling my post more than standing by, watching the army march away and waiting like a fancy column by a gate where nothing happens.”
“Welcome to the company of the true yellow girl,” said Razo.
Conrad was among the riders, and he spoke up then for the first time. “She’s the yellow lady, you dolt. Can’t you see she’s a lady?”
Ani’s four gold coins bought food and blankets, packed on two of the horses, and then hats and clothings for the workers that were muted in color and could be mistaken for Kildenrean design. Ani hoped they might pass for Kildenreans long enough to get inside the gate. After that feat was accomplished, all she could do was tell her tale. At the thought, her stomach felt sick. She was certain the royal audience would not be so easy to please as weary Forest workers clamoring for a bedtime tale.
It was full night by the time the company of eleven was on the road north, the outside of the city wall just a dark border to their left. They rode for two hours, then camped by the road and slept without fire. They rose at dawn and rode all day.
Ani was immediately grateful for Ratger. The guard was the only member of their company who had ridden the road to the lake and had seen maps of this part of Bayern. Ani spent the morning by his side, learning all she could of the king and the encounter to come.
“You’re so quick to answer my little queries, Ratger. At the palace gate, you clung to the suspicion and stubbornness that I’d expect from any Forest-born, but now you’re as easy in talking as a magpie.”
“Well, why not?” said Ratger. “We’re on the same side, and there’s little time to waste.”
“But why’d you believe them that I’m the princess?” said Ani.
Ratger shrugged. “You look like a princess. You seem like a princess. I saw the other one a few times, and now that I’ve seen you, I like you better.”
“Well, for whatever reason, I’m grateful,” she said, though his easy loyalty disturbed her even as it gratified her. She mulled over his statement under the conversation-stifling afternoon sun.
“Sometimes it seems my identity’s a matter of opinion,” Ani said later as she rode with Talone at the head of the company, hoping to pull the pace faster. Talone insisted they arrive by the next day, saying that once Selia wed the prince, their job would be near impossible.
“How’ll we achieve it at all?” said Ani. “She rode into town with light-colored hair wearing my dress, and they accepted her as the princess. I show up with lighter hair, and the workers, the former prime minister, and at least one palace guard vote for me. Will our fate be decided when we stand side by side and the king judges which of us looks the most like a princess?”
“You have truth on your side,” said Talone.
“And on her side, the gift of people-speaking. I don’t think this can be a mere matter of telling the truth.”
“Nor do I,” he said. “That is why you do not go alone.”
They had passed sight of the walled city late that morning and rode through its sprawling villages most of the day. The road was wide, trampled hard as stone from centuries of hooves and cartwheels, and edged with houses and taverns, and people who peered curiously at the ragtag band and their unlikely leader. “Another yellow girl,” Ani heard someone say. By late afternoon, the road crossed the borders of a farm and into uncultivated fields, leaving behind the smells of smoke and cows. The afternoon light picked white tree seeds out of the air, like suspended snowflakes too light to fall. The voice of the wind that came out of the wood was husky and restless. Then, from ahead, the wind brought images of men and horses.
“Could we already be near, Ratger?”
“No, tomorrow’s ride, at least.”
“Then we’re coming up on another company.”
She led them off the road and they walked their horses along its side, moving in and out of scattered spruce and aspen. At length, they saw a forest lane that converged on the main road. From it came a company of foot soldiers and some mounted men. They were many times larger than their own, each man carrying a javelin, iron points up and tipped with afternoon light like many tiny stars. Their shields were brightly painted.
“A hundred-band,” said Razo. “See their shields? The spruce tree and four stars—they’re the hundred-band from Urifel.”
“Every village forms a hundred-band for a war, Isi,” said Enna. “Usually they’re made up of the younger men old enough to’ve received their javelin and shield, and older men who’ve never killed before. They’re part of the community when they get a javelin, but they’re men after their first kill, so they all want to kill. If you see any with beards, those are the ones who really take it seriously and won’t shave, ever, until they’ve killed an enemy. The mounted men, those’re the experienced fighters and are given command and a horse in battle. The rest fight from the ground.”
“The army must be gathering at the lake,” said Talone.
“One hundred from every village,” said Ani. “Enna, how many villages does Bayern claim?”
“I don’t know, maybe fifty, maybe two hundred.”
“If that army crosses the mountain pass, they could wipe out Kildenree. My mother thinks she just made a marital alliance. Kildenree’s not prepared. Even so, I know they’ll fight. And all this so Selia can hide her deceit.”
A few supply wagons trailed the soldiers, two carrying women—young women with babies in their arms, small children at their feet leaning out of the wagons to watch the wheels spin.
Ani looked at Enna. “They take their wives to war?”
She nodded. “It’s been a tradition for centuries. All Bayern children’re raised on stories of the ancient days and heroes and warriors, when gods still lived in the forest and spoke through sacred horses. It used to be that Bayern armies were aggressive, and every man was a warrior, not just a bully who carries his javelin into taverns. The peacekeepers say they’re the last guardians of the old ways, but I think the old ways just meant attacking every nation that touched our lands.”
“Yes.” Ani had read some of that history in Geric’s book.
Only the immensity of the Forest and the formerly impassable mountains had protected Kildenree all those centuries.
The last of the hundred-band and their families trailed out of sight into the horizon of the road, and Talone motioned that it was time to mount again. They had no real reason to hide, but Ani wished to avoid having to explain themselves to anyone before they reached the estate, so the party skirted the road, out of sight, passed the slower moving hundred-band, and rejoined the road some distance in front. Talone kept a steady pace for the remainder of the day. The damp night descended, and the wood by the road trembled with voices of crickets and the hard wings of hunting birds.
They halted off the road near the line of trees. Talone made a fire. Its light sought out the faces of the company attending to their horses and feeling the ground with booted feet for smooth places without stones. Its light gathered them and kept them in its circle. They ate and talked, and sometimes were silent, the fir
e the only movement, each watching the flames lick the air and thinking of the next day. Enna sang a Forest song. Her voice was high and soft and simple, and she sang of a carpenter’s daughter who fell in love with a tree, and of her father, who carved the tree into a man. Her voice faded, and Ani again became conscious of the croaks of night insects that came from the wood at their back and all around, surrounding them, an overwhelming army.
“Isi, tell a story,” said Razo.
“Oh, you know all my stories now,” said Ani. “I’d like to hear one. Do you have one, Enna?”
“There’s the history or legend, I don’t know which, of why our women go to war.”
“Yes, that’s perfect.”
Enna was silent a moment, the thoughtful crease between her eyes as dark in the faint firelight as the infinite blackness of the Forest night. Her eyes were distant, and she seemed to be listening to that voice that first told her the story, a mother, sister, or aunt. Then her voice, like her singing, cut through the crickets and crackling fire.
“There was a battle between Bayern and Tira, a kingdom to the southeast. The battle was so great that all the feet and falling bodies broke the earth, and the sweat of the warriors slipped into the cracks and soaked into the soil, and to this day, that plain in the south of Bayern’s a marsh where no one can farm. The leaders were killed, and the men of Bayern ran away. At the camp, the women waited for the battle to be over and victory to be bawled to the trees and hills and its echoes to ring like a bell, as had always happened. But this time their men ran back shouting, ‘Vanquished! Vanquished!’”
“Vanquished,” said Razo.