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  “Only one guard,” Cal announced, for the second time.

  Skye shook his head. Cal would be harping on that all the way home.

  Myah tossed Cal the second sack, and he tucked the end of it in his belt.

  “That’s odd—even for the Ostens,” she said. Her horse danced toward the storehouse. She dropped the reins of all three horses and hopped down from her saddle, the movement fluid and graceful, as eloquent as she was.

  “There were only a handful of men when I scouted, and the usual supplies,” Cal added.

  “Yes, well, let’s hope that there is something left,” Skye interjected. He really hoped he was wrong, and the fort was under guarded because they hated cabbage man and not because the Ostens had moved the supplies.

  “I’ll take something over nothing,” Myah said. She rubbed her hands together and then exhaled warm air from her lungs into the wool covering the palms of her hands. Her exposed fingertips were almost blue in the twilight. “Let’s get what we can and go.”

  Their last few runs had not netted much, but they did what they could to funnel supplies to the resistance. For Myah, Skye knew, it was more about feeding the people of Nordlin and its great city than his and Cal’s political ideologies. But, unlike them, she had never watched Nordlin burn the way they had, when they lost their home in Namir. The Ostens had a love affair with fire. It was their answer to everything—destroy first, then sift through the ashes to claim what remained.

  Skye and Cal had watched their world burn thanks to the butchers, and Skye hated them to the marrow of his bones.

  Cal pulled out his sword and used the hilt to pound against the rusted lock on the door of the storehouse. Sparks flicked off the metal, and then the lock popped open with a squeak.

  Skye edged forward, tugging at the door as soon as his friend stepped to the side and returned his weapon to his belt. The back of the door hit the outside of the building with a thump.

  Skye’s eyes widened.

  Cal whistled. “Nice haul.” He moved past Skye, shuffling through the narrow walkways around crates, barrels, and sacks of grain.

  “There’s enough here to feed a quarter of the city.” Myah’s voice hovered just above a whisper at Skye’s side. Her shoulder lightly brushed against his arm. Her fingertips, ice cold from exposure, found his hand and gave them a slight squeeze.

  Skye returned her gesture and then brought her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles in a quick gesture of affection, before he released her entirely and stepped away. He pulled out his knife from his waistband and entered the storehouse. He moved to one of the crates, and wedging the blade between the box and the lid, forced the top upward. Skye pried it the rest of the way off with his fingers and lifted it from the box. He brushed back the sawdust hiding the contents and peered inside.

  “Weapons.” He cursed and pulled out a single-handed sword, sawdust scattering around his feet as he removed the weapon. He stepped away from the crates to give himself some room. The sword spun easily in his grip, the balance between the handle and blade near perfect. A sword like this would have cost a fortune before the war, and only been available to the wealthiest of lords or ladies. What was it doing at an Osten outpost?

  “It’s well-made too,” he added. Skye chucked the cursed thing back into the box with a clang.

  “Black powder.”

  Skye looked up from the crate. Cal had dug a hole in one of the barrels with the tip of his knife. Black powder poured from a small hole, pooling on the floor of the storehouse.

  “We should have brought more men,” Myah said. She opened one of the sacks and sifted her fingers through milled grain. “We could use all of this.” She turned to Cal, her blue eyes wide. “This really wasn’t here when you scouted?”

  “No,” Cal countered, brushing his hands on his pants as he stood. “Trust me, I would have asked Owl for more men if I knew this was the haul.”

  “There’s no way we can get this back to Nordlin City,” Myah said. She gestured to the crates, sacks, and barrels around them.

  “We also can’t leave this here,” Skye said. “Who knows what they are planning to do with all the weapons.”

  “Agreed,” Myah said, picking up one of the swords. The blade appeared absurdly large in her small hand. She lifted it level, examining the engravings on the hilt, before tossing it back in the box. “We’re a mere two hours from the border, Skye. I don’t even want to think about why they would be amassing weapons so close to us.”

  “She’s right. The last few times Allen and I hit this outpost, we only found food,” Cal said. “Allen mentioned that it was the usual take. I don’t think I’ve ever seen weapons here outside what the guards had on them.”

  “Then let’s stick to our plan,” Skye said, the words like bitter ash on his tongue. “We take what we can.” He paused to look around, then gestured to the horses in the corral. “Let’s load them, too, and then we’ll destroy the rest. If the Ostens are up to something, we shouldn’t leave this place intact.”

  A half hour later, and a safe distance away, Skye lowered a torch to the trail of black dust on the ground. As the fire caught hold and gained momentum, it followed the path that led to the stores of powder in the outpost. Then, they watched it burn to cinders.

  ~TWO~

  The depth of snow faded as they descended the narrow valleys that cut the Borderland Mountains, giving way to frozen earth with little snow, but it was not until Myah heard the rush of water from the Nordlingrace River that she knew they were closing in on the wards protecting her kingdom.

  Myah threw up her right hand, signaling for Skye and Cal to halt, and reined in her dappled brown mare. She patted her neck as she scanned the area, searching for the pathway through the ward. Her uncle, the kingdom’s high lord, had taught her how to read his magic, to see its shadow in the absence of light, and to find its light on the brightest day. It was a subtle pigment change in the natural world, but if she did not find it, the ward would take them through a maze and exit them out the way they had come in. Magic was tricky like that.

  Myah kicked her leg over her horse’s rear and dropped to the ground. The mare pranced at her dismount and the shifting weight of supplies loading her down. She handed the leather leads to Cal before moving along the river’s edge, her boots slipping on the icy rock, her breath catching when she almost fell.

  “Careful, My,” Skye called, but she waved him off, letting him know she was well. She had grown up in the northern kingdom, accustomed to its ice and violent, cold winters. Her family, the house of Leicht, had been the ruling lord house of Nordlin for almost a thousand years, second in station only to the royal house, who had ruled over all four of the unified kingdoms. At least, that was the way of things before the war.

  Myah pressed her hand forward, in a spot that was more green than blue. The ward rippled and fought to tug her into the illusion maze. She yanked her hand free of its grasp.

  She was not in the right spot.

  Myah moved downstream a few feet, toward a fallen tree still rooted to the bank. Its branches cut ripples in the surface of the water. The ward was a truer green here, like the color of emeralds or jade. She pressed against the ward again, and this time it split in two like water flowing around a stone. She could see the bridge that crossed the river through the tear in the ward. The crossing was invisible from the Osten side.

  “Here,” she called. “Take the horses through.”

  Skye and Cal kicked their horses forward, leading them, her mare, and the three horses they stole from the fort through the tear. The clop of their hooves echoed across the bridge made of stone and wood. Myah waited until they were on the other bank, safely in Nordlin, before she slipped through the tear and allowed the ward to close behind her.

  ~*~

  The cave system near the Nordlingrace had been cut by the mighty river over an immeasurable test of time. At least, that was what Myah’s tutor, Master Griffith, always insisted when he diverted his topics from
magic and politics to geology and the natural sciences. Myah never understood his fascination with rocks, but she did see the beauty, and benefit, of these caves. After all, they were perfect for hiding the supplies she and her friends confiscated from the Ostens.

  She dismounted, followed closely by Skye and Cal, and searched the maw of the cave’s opening with her eyes. The river muted the natural world around them, but she knew the guards were there—hidden, but there.

  “Please tell Owl we’ve returned,” she called into the expanse.

  A moment later, a man peeled away from the cave wall and disappeared into the black. A second guard stepped forward and slid down the smooth rocks that sloped toward the river. His movements were so smooth and agile, he was in front of her before she could speak again. He extended a hand, taking the horse leads from her.

  “I see you were successful, my lady.” A smile quirked one side of the man’s mouth. He was middle-aged, close to her uncle in years, but he always had a twinkle of mirth in his eyes, as if the world amused him even when it frightened others. It was probably the only thing that saved the man from people being frightened by him. Myah barely came to his chest, and people frequently remarked she was above average in height for a woman.

  “For what it was, Allen, yes, we were. However, you would have been bored. Cal has done nothing but complain since we left the fort that there was only one guard.”

  “I was not complaining,” Cal protested as he slid up to her side. He crossed his arms over his broad chest, which caused the stitching on his outer coat to strain. “I merely expressed my disappointment at not being able to pummel more Ostens.”

  “Here, here,” Allen agreed. “Vipers, the lot of them.”

  “Yes, and those vipers are up to something,” Skye added with a shake of his head, his blond hair tossing about. “Can you help us unload? We need to get these packs off and speak to Owl before we return to the city.”

  “Aye, I can,” Allen said.

  Allen, Skye, and Cal unhooked the sacks they had tied across the backs of the horses, while Myah carried the sacks individually up to the mouth of the cave as they worked. About the time they finished, Myah spotted two shadows moving through the cave. The spots slowly took shape until Owl’s willowy form stood in front of them. The second man went for the supplies.

  “Lady Leicht,” Owl intoned. His gentle voice was hardly commanding, but she did not work with him because he could command a crowd with a speech or best every man in battle. No, Owl’s graces were of the mind. Strategy, histories, contemplative pursuits. He had been a scholar in the capital before the war, and the man was brilliant—at least she thought so.

  Owl often told her stories about the “grand history” of the great houses and of the battles that had led to the formation of the four kingdoms under the royal house. It was all ancient history, but somehow, the way he told the tales enthralled her. The naive child in her wanted to believe that those were simpler, better times for the kingdoms, but the educated future high lady in her was much more pragmatic. Times were never simple or easy; they were just different.

  Myah leaned in and hugged Owl, brushing against his moppy gray-blond hair as they embraced. He patted her back before she pulled away. The spectacles on his nose were slightly askew, the thick glass in the frames distorting his features like a magnifying glass. He wobbled, and she grabbed his elbows to steady him.

  “Oh dear, my legs are always getting the better of me,” he said with a wisp of humor. “Forever trying to dance and refusing to follow my lead.” He always poked fun at himself. It delighted her about him. His ability to laugh at himself could disarm friends and mislead foes, for they never took him seriously—much to their detriment.

  “If you take my arm, sir, I’d be happy to lead for a time. I’m an excellent dancer,” Myah returned. She heard a snort of laughter from behind her and threw a glare over her shoulder in its direction. Skye smirked at her and then winked. She would make him pay for that later.

  Turning her attention back to Owl, she continued, “We have news. I was hoping you might have a theory or two.”

  Several other men passed them, going to the pile of supplies they had unloaded, to bring the items deeper into the cave.

  “Oh, I’m sure I will, my dear. I’m sure I will.” He slipped his arm through hers, using her to balance. For the most part, he was steady on the rocks as they trekked back into the cave. “Is this a private discussion, or shall we sit in the common areas by the warmth of the fires?”

  “Commons should be fine,” Skye answered. “I’ve had enough of this cold.”

  They emerged from the narrow tunnel that lead from the cave mouth, into a wide cavern with open fractures in the ceiling that exposed the sky outside.

  They settled around one of the open fires, its flames casting long shadows on the walls. The smoke from the handful of fires coalesced into a single black form as it rose to the small openings in the ceiling. The voices around them carried in low murmurs.

  “You seem uneasy, Myah,” Owl said, as he swirled a stick in the ash of the flames.

  “We found something unexpected today.”

  “Oh? You got quite a bit from that outpost. Ostens have never much cared for the mountains, so I’m surprised you got what you did.”

  “That was what I thought, what we all thought. But—” Myah looked to Skye. She had thought about the possibilities the entire ride back. Her thoughts kept returning to one train of thought. “Owl, why would the Ostens store significant amounts of weapons in the Borderland Mountains?”

  Owl paused his stick movement and then started another series of loops and circles. “It is not a strategic location. The narrow valleys and deep snows make it difficult to move troops through the area. Smaller forces perhaps, but then the Ostens would still have to contend with the ward. I do not see them breaking through that. Your uncle is one of the strongest spellweavers I have ever met. He often gave King Tristan a run when they would practice dueling as youths. His wards are significant.”

  “I’ve been telling myself that all morning, but we still found swords, bows, arrows, and enough powder that would have allowed them to blow a hole in Nordlin City’s outer defense wall. Could they be planning an attack?”

  “Ostens are always planning an attack,” Allen chimed in. “We’ll keep an eye on the wards near the bridge to be safe, though.”

  “Strategically speaking, it would be a poor point to attack from—especially when the southern border of Nordlin opens to flat plains in Namir. They’d have easier troop movement there,” Owl said. “More than likely, the Ostens have just obtained weapons from the snow kingdom.”

  “That journey takes weeks,” Cal said, scoffing. He leaned against the cave wall, his wrists above his head, pillowing his skull against the rock. “Only an Osten would go through the torture of that trip. Sadists, the lot of them.”

  “Some of the four kingdoms greatest generals have been Osten,” Owl said. “There was a reason the former high lord of Ost advised the royal house in military matters. That man outmaneuvered me on more than one occasion at court.”

  “He couldn’t have been that brilliant,” Skye countered. “After all, he got caught plotting against King Tristan and was executed for it.”

  “Oh, don’t let his one failing fool you,” Owl responded. “There were many that fell victim to that man’s machinations. He was brutal, and his wife possesses equal cunning. She would have to be cunning to survive a marriage to him.”

  “She’s managed to destroy the four kingdoms, a thousand years of unity and peace,” Myah said tersely.

  “Precisely,” Owl continued. “So, whatever her motivations might be for bringing weapons through the pass, I don’t doubt it is of importance. I just do not believe she would tactically use the pass for her purposes. More than likely, she plans to outfit the Elite Guard with new weapons.” His eyes blinked through the thick lenses of his glasses as he turned his gaze to Myah. “Where are the weapons now?”<
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  “We destroyed them,” Skye replied. “The craftsmanship on those swords …” He shook his head in disbelief.

  “Pity you could not return with them,” Allen said.

  “Yes, I know our men could use some outfitting,” Owl mused, “but better gone than in Osten hands. They leave only sorrow in their wake.”

  “Have you heard the latest from Namir yet?” Allen asked.

  Myah could sense Skye stiffen beside her. Namir, the western kingdom, was his homeland. Ost had attacked two years ago, after Morgensol, the southern kingdom, had yielded, and the destruction continued. Skye’s father, who was a lord there, had lost his lands, but he had gotten his family out of Namir and into Nordlin. Her uncle had only dropped the wards for mere hours to let in refugees.

  “No, not yet,” Myah answered, almost afraid to hear the news. The tales of loss, of destruction, left open wounds on her soul. “The council hasn’t met for a few days. My uncle has been locked away, ruminating about something.”

  “Sad news, as is most from Namir,” Owl said. “The Elite Guard was sent in to quell any resistance. Any village suspected of dissidents was burned to the ground.”

  Myah gasped. “It’s winter. All those people … they’ll starve … or freeze.”

  “It gets worse,” Allen said, his gazed fixed on his hands. “The master of the guard left no one alive.” The words hung in the air a moment before he added, “Not even the children.”

  Myah pressed her eyes closed, fighting back tears. She hated the Ostens. They had taken so much from everyone dear to her; they had taken so much even from her own family. When would the suffering end?

  But she knew the answer: with the death of the house of Ashen, Ost’s ruling family.

  ~THREE~

  The closer they got to the city, the lighter Myah felt. Nordlin City had always been the kingdom’s capital, and it was the seat of the high lord house of Leicht for a millennium. Every cobbled stone, every brick, every curvature of the road felt as if it were part of her. Some called it the Jewel of the North, but for Myah, it was home.