“He can’t.” Evelyn started down the path with the child in her arms.
Brela looked over her shoulder at Red. “Unca ’Siah pops the door.” She spoke gravely, as if that made everything clear.
“Come,” Evelyn said. “We’ve a ways to go to get to the forge.”
The boys ran back, chattering at Evelyn, which was fine with Red. She just wanted to take in the sights, and not worry about talking.
Their path took them between fields filled with sheep and frolicking lambs on one side, and cows and calves on the other. Farmworkers, men and women, raised their heads as Red’s group passed, but with a smile and a wave of their hands, they returned to work without comment. Red wasn’t much for field work, but she knew as well as anyone that the crops needed to be planted as soon as weather permitted.
The breeze now brought sounds to her: a smith’s hammer chiming, the sounds of men and animals in the fields beyond.
As they drew near to the outbuildings, Red heard a sound more familiar to her ears. The clash of sword on shield. But Evelyn and the children seemed to have no concern, so Red followed, until the reason why came into view.
It was a practice ring, with warriors sparring and watching. Greetings were called, but Evelyn never paused. She walked right up to the open doors of a forge, where a large man was seated on a stool, watching another work metal at the anvil.
“Auxter,” Evelyn called out.
The seated man turned his head, a broad man with gray hair and thick, bushy eyebrows, and a wide smile on his face. “Evie! I didn’t expect you for another week at least. What does Josiah need? Arent and her cooks baked today, so there’s plenty to be had.”
The smith, a younger, dark-skinned man, smiled but didn’t stop his work. He was folding white-hot metal, but it was no plowshare he was forming. It was a sword. A glance about showed more weapons than horseshoes along the walls. The boys were fascinated, but they stayed well back.
“Down,” Brela demanded.
“Not in here, Bright Eyes,” Evelyn said. She looked back at Auxter. “Better double the normal supplies, and double them again. And add some dishes. Josiah has company.”
“Eh?” Auxter was eyeing Red now, giving her a good look.
“Auxter, meet Red Gloves.”
Auxter nodded. “Another sword for our side, then?”
“Well,” Evelyn took in a breath, and hedged, “we need to call council. There have been some developments.”
Red mentally rolled her eyes. Best just to cut to the bone. She opened her leather armor, baring her breasts.
Auxter’s eyes bulged. The blacksmith dropped his hammer.
Brela, still in Evelyn’s arms, crowed with joy. “Like mine!” She lifted her shirt high, showing a pale, plump tummy—
And the birthmark of the Chosen.
TEN
IT was like a splash of cold water on Red’s face.
She had to give him credit, Auxter recovered before anyone else. “Children! Arent has been baking all day, and she’s a plate of sticky buns for you in the kitchens. Off with you, now.”
The boys needed no encouragement whatsoever. They sprang off like hounds on a scent. Evelyn released Brela, who ran after them. “Wait for me, wait for me!”
Auxter reached for a staff that leaned on the wall behind him and struggled to his feet. “Onza, as soon as you’ve dealt with the metal, come to the great hall. And spread the word, lad.”
The smith had retrieved his hammer, and was looking at his misshapen work with resignation. “Might be a while.”
“Then set it aside. We’ve more important weapons to forge.” Auxter moved forward, fairly fast for a man with a pronounced limp. “Evelyn, Red Gloves, come with me.”
“Auxter, I—”
“Not a word, Evelyn.” Auxter looked over his shoulder. “And you, lass.”
Red raised an eyebrow.
“Keep your clothes on, eh?”
There was no time to respond to that. Auxter limped to the practice circle, and all activity ceased. The warriors stopped their sparring, and listened as Auxter issued commands, snapping out orders and messages for a half-dozen people. Red watched, impressed with the way he was obeyed.
Evelyn came to stand beside her. Red ignored her.
Once the warriors had scattered to do his bidding, Auxter waved the women on. “Come.”
Auxter was not happy with the priestess, to Red’s way of thinking. Not that she blamed him. The priestess was keeping too many secrets. Just as well Evelyn had been holding a child in her arms, or Red might have wrung her neck right then and there.
Auxter would’ve probably helped.
They followed Auxter to the big stone manor house and through wooden double doors into the great hall. Red looked around, impressed by the upper floor and the balcony. There were tables and benches scattered about, and the head table off to the side.
Auxter kept walking, toward the hearth at the other end of the hall. A fire was lit within, and Auxter made for it. One large chair stood square in the center of the furniture, facing the hall entrance. Not a throne, but certainly the chair of the head of the household, whatever he might be called.
Auxter sat in the chair, easing his leg out straight before him. “Eveyln,” he said, patting the stool next to his chair. The priestess went where she was directed. He didn’t offer Red a seat.
She wasn’t surprised.
She planted herself before him, facing the hearth, her arms folded one over the other, her weight on her right leg. And waited.
Auxter eyed her closely. “So. A chosen. And a warrior.”
“As you once were,” Red answered pointedly.
Auxter scowled.
Evelyn shifted on her stool. “Auxter, I—”
“Have better sense,” Auxter growled at Evelyn. “You might have warned me. Might have warned her, from the expression on her face. What were you think—”
People entered the hall behind Red, and Auxter broke off to call to one. “Vembar, join us. Evelyn’s brought news that wants discussion.”
Red turned slightly and saw a much older man shuffle into view, leaning on the arm of a slight girl. The girl was clad in a tunic and trous, with a dagger at her belt. She had straight brown, shoulder-length hair, just like Red’s. The man was dressed in soft white robes, and moved slowly. Red figured him to be at least in his sixties, if not older. With the lass’s help, he eased into one of the chairs close to the heat, next to Evelyn. “What news?” He wheezed slightly, breathless from the effort.
“Vembar, may I make you known to Red Gloves?” Evelyn looked at Red. “This is Vembar, the Chancellor of Palins under the late King.”
Vembar returned Red’s nod with regal dignity. No warrior here, that was certain. The man looked as if a strong breeze would carry him off.
“Vembar, Red Gloves is Chosen. She bears the mark under her breast.”
Vembar’s eyes widened, but only slightly. The lass with him went white, her knuckles tightening on the back of his chair.
Vembar settled deeper into his chair, and looked back at Auxter. Something seemed to pass between them, but Red couldn’t tell what the message was.
“I’ve summoned the others.” Auxter raised his chin, and gave Red a hard look. “Time enough for Evelyn to tell this woman what she needs to know.”
“That would be good,” Red said dryly.
Evelyn flushed. She opened her mouth, probably to defend her actions, then seemed to think better of it. She straightened on her stool. “For years, there have been tales of a Chosen One, born to restore the throne of Palins. But it was a tale told by simple folk, with no facts to support it. So it was ignored by the learned and those of the Church.”
She sounded like she was explaining and apologizing at the same time. Evelyn ran a hand over her hair, though not a strand was out of place. “It wasn’t until the Regent came to power that whispers began, of babes born and killed in the same night, for bearing the mark of the Chosen.”
More men entered the hall, but Red stayed focused on Evelyn as she kept talking. “It wasn’t until I chanced across a girl child of some six years old, bearing the mark, that I began to believe and hope. I managed to get her here, to safety.”
“A week later, I learned of twins born with the mark. I rushed to their home, only to find the family slain.” She closed her eyes, and Red figured she prayed for the dead. “Over the years since, I’ve found five living Chosen, all different ages.” She looked up at Red. “You are the oldest.”
Vembar spoke, his voice a frail whisper. “We believe that the prophecy is like the seeds of the dandelion. The wind carries the seeds, hoping that they will fall to the earth and flourish.” He moved his head to look at the lass by his side. “So it is with the Chosen, each bearing the possibility of success.”
“Or failure,” Red pointed out. More warriors had joined them now, with a few women in the mix. Red hadn’t missed the fact that they ranged around her now, their faces a mixture of curiosity and outright anger as they realized the meaning of the conversation.
“Now here you stand, bearing the mark of the Chosen,” Auxter said carefully, to ensure that his audience knew what the meeting was about. By now there were ten, maybe fifteen, in the circle about Red, and none of them seemed to be greeting the arrival of a Chosen with open arms and smiles.
“And the others?” Red asked.
“You’ve met the children. The boys and Brela all bear the mark,” Evelyn responded.
Red focused on the lass standing next to Vembar. “As do you.”
The child lifted her chin. “I do. I am Gloriana of Palins, eldest of the Chosen.”
“Not any more,” said Red calmly. She shifted her weight to her other leg as a growl arose from the group.
“How do we know that it’s a true mark?” someone asked. “It could be faked, to gain our trust.”
Red reached for her shirt yet again, and all eyes focused on the area beneath her breast. It would be nice if for once those expressions showed admiration of her form, not the birthmark. But not with this group.
“It’s real,” Evelyn confirmed. “I’ve checked it.”
Auxter grunted. “So, you would step into a fully formed and well armed prophecy, and take a throne.” He leaned forward in his chair. “But do you deserve it?”
Red had a good idea what was coming. She dropped her arms and shifted her stance so that her weight was balanced on both feet. “If I so choose, I do.”
“Prove it,” Auxter barked. He tossed his staff to her. “Lerew, Riah, Jaff, Taris.”
Red caught the staff as the four leapt to the attack.
“AUXTER, they’ll kill her!” Evelyn clutched at his arm.
“Not if she’s any good,” Auxter growled.
Evelyn watched in horror as tables and chairs were pulled back, and Red was surrounded by four of the younger warriors, each with a wooden practice sword in his hand. Red stood in the center, twirling that staff and grinning like one whose wits were gone.
Evelyn would have stood, but Auxter reached over and tapped her knee sharply. “Don’t interfere,” he said softly.
One of the men, Taris, jumped forward with a cry, flourishing his sword in the air. Red dodged to the side, and tapped his wrist with the staff as he lunged past. His sword clattered to the ground.
Red twirled, placing one end of the staff between the legs of another man, tripping him up. She laughed and twirled again, using the staff to sweep the area around her. The other two opponents jumped back, narrowly avoiding the attack.
Evelyn held her breath, but Red flowed around them all without any apparent effort. She didn’t avoid every blow, but she moved with the blow, absorbing the hit.
Not that they hit her often.
The others were cheering their fellows on, yelling advice and encouragement. Evelyn tried to relax on her stool, telling herself that this was just what warriors did.
“She’s very good,” Vembar commented.
Auxter nodded. “She’s pulling her blows, going easy on the lads.”
Evelyn looked again, but there was no “easy” to her eyes. It looked like they were really trying to kill each other. Red had Riah down on the ground, and was laughing as she used him to tangle Jaff’s legs while he dodged her blows.
A familiar voice spoke from behind. “They break my chairs, and I’ll have their heads.” Evelyn looked over her shoulder. Arent was behind Auxter, with a tray of mugs and a grim look on her thin face. “Ale?”
Auxter reached up and took a mug without a word. Arent served the others, then set the tray down and took her own mug in hand. “So that’s the new Chosen.”
“Word’s out, then?” Auxter asked.
“Racing around like chickens on slaughter day.” Arent watched Red with narrowed eyes.
“She can get us the support of the High Barons—” Evelyn started, but Auxter cut her off with a look.
“Evelyn, how can someone so talented, and so smart, be so stupid?” Auxter asked softly.
Evelyn flushed up. “She—”
“Aye, you’ve found a solution to a problem, Evie lass, but you’ve created more trouble in the bargain.” Auxter’s gaze was on the fight, but his words were directed to her, and they were soft. “We’ve spent five years working to building our forces, training Gloriana to take the throne, and teaching the others to treat Gloriana as the true Queen. The other children have been deemed her heirs. They know it, we all know it.”
A shout arose, and Evelyn looked over to see Red fall to the ground, somehow manage to roll under a table, and get to her feet on the other side, staff still in her hand.
Auxter continued, “Now you walk in and produce another Chosen, and expect everyone to accept her with no hesitation.”
“She’s Chosen,” Evelyn whispered back.
Auxter nodded. “She is. And they will accept her, but it won’t be as easy as lifting her shirt.”
“But—”
“Look at Gloriana,” Arent said softly.
Evelyn looked up at the older woman, then obeyed.
Gloriana’s face was flushed, and there was anger in her eyes as she watched the fight.
A pit blossomed in Evelyn’s stomach. Lord of Light, she’d made a terrible mistake. She looked down into her mug of ale. “Auxter…”
“Enough!” Auxter bellowed. Evelyn jumped, startled by the cry, but the warriors merely stopped what they were doing, and turned to look at him.
“You can fight, woman. I will give you that.”
Red stepped out of the group, her color high, her breathing fast. “So can they,” she offered, with a grin.
Auxter grunted. “You are Chosen.”
Red planted the staff. “If I choose to be.” She tugged on the edges of her gloves. “I’ve yet to see a profit in it.”
Gloriana took a step forward, scowling. “It’s not about profit. It’s about restoring the land and its people. It’s about—”
Vembar shifted his leg to press against hers; Gloriana stopped talking and bit her lip. She glanced at the old man, then stepped back. Evelyn’s heart went out to her—so earnest, so naive.
Evelyn sighed. That was part of the problem: Gloriana’s youth and inexperience.
Red’s eyebrow went up as the warriors pulled back stools and chairs to seat themselves. “That’s all well and good, but I’m a mercenary. We like to see a return for our efforts.”
“A throne, for one thing.” Vembar’s voice was soft, but sharp.
“There is that,” Red acknowledged, taking a deep breath. “Still, I’ve some thinking to do. And someone to talk to before I commit to this scheme.”
“Well enough.” Auxter held out his hand.
Red extended the staff toward him and placed it in his hand.
“On the morrow, then,” Auxter stated.
Red nodded, then gave him a grin. “Any ale left?”
THEY walked in silence back to the grove, with three of the warriors carrying baske
ts and bundles of supplies. The birches seemed to glow with the last light of day, even though sheltered in the pines.
Evelyn began to chant, and once the door was open, the warriors started to carry the bundles through. “Call for Josiah, and he’ll tell you where to put them,” Evelyn instructed the men. “We’ll take care of them from there.”
Red stood by the stone, looking down at the dried sunflower head. More seed had been picked from it by the birds. The breeze had died down, but the scent of pine was still strong. The faint odor of manure from the fields was all but gone.
Red breathed in the air and tried not to think about much of anything for a while. Just to be, for a moment.
Evelyn cleared her throat, and Red looked up. The warriors were gone, the supplies all carried to the other side. But the priestess barred the way to the portal and stood there, glaring at her.
Not a good omen, to be sure.
Evelyn straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Before we go back, I want to know what your intentions are toward Josiah.”
“Excuse me?” Red asked, putting her hand on her sword hilt.
“I’ve seen the way you look at him.”
Red chuckled. “I thought you were a priestess.”
“I’m sworn to chastity, not stupidity,” Evelyn said. “As one of his few living relatives, I ask your intentions.”
Red tilted her head and studied the woman before her. “Sister?”
“Cousin.”
“Ah.” Red nodded. “That explains the ‘Lady High Priestess.’”
To her surprise, Evelyn flushed red, as if embarrassed. “No. We are second cousins. I don’t bear the title as the result of birth. It was awarded to me by the Crown.” She pressed on. “Josiah is dear to me, and I don’t want to see him hurt.”
Red opened her mouth to give an earthy description of her “intentions”…but the words didn’t come. She closed her mouth, looked down at the ground, and studied the tips of her boots. A picture of Josiah rose before her: sitting on the well, his arms crossed over his chest, hunched as if in pain. Those wounded eyes….