Samara's Peril

All eyes turned to him. He looked at each of his older siblings, his face set in determination. When no one responded immediately, he said, “I want to help defend Samara.”

  “Michael,” their mother murmured, “you can’t.”

  Michael’s brows scrunched together in stubbornness, reminding Kyrin of both their grandfather and Kaden.

  “Why not? I’ll be fourteen in a couple of months. Only three years younger than Kyrin and Kaden when they got involved in this. And I’m getting good with a sword. Just ask Marcus.” His brown eyes darted to his oldest brother. “Tell her.”

  Marcus glanced at their mother before focusing on Michael. “I admit you’re learning quickly, but . . .”

  Anger fueled by hurt deepened Michael’s frown. “But what?” His chest rose and fell heavily. “You don’t think I’m strong enough?”

  “You’re not strong enough yet,” Marcus said. “Trust me, your time will come, but you don’t want to rush it.”

  Michael sat up taller. “But I want to help now. There might not be a Samara by the time you think I’m ready.”

  Ever calm, Marcus responded, “Remaining here does not mean you can’t help. Don’t underestimate the importance of this camp. Think of where we’d be without it. Whatever happens in Samara, people will continue to need shelter from the emperor.”

  He paused. The heaviness Kyrin had experienced all day appeared in his face as well.

  “I don’t know if we will make it back from Samara. If we don’t, Warin will need the young men of this camp, like you, to rise up and help take care of things. You will become a man a lot sooner than you think, and part of that is learning to discern when it’s right to follow the things you desire and when it isn’t. We all must learn to put the needs of others above our personal wants and desires.”

  Michael hung his head and stared at his plate, but he didn’t argue any further. Kyrin glanced across the table at Kaden. Even he appeared to be taking their brother’s wisdom to heart.

  Later that night, when only the women occupied the cabin, Kyrin climbed up to the loft with Meredith to get the little girl to bed. She helped her undress and slip into her nightgown before brushing and braiding her hair. When Kyrin pulled back the blankets of their bed, Meredith just stood looking at her, her large eyes watery.

  Kyrin frowned lightly. “What’s wrong?”

  Meredith’s lower lip quivered. “I don’t want you to leave.”

  Kyrin let out a long breath, her heart squeezing painfully. She reached for Meredith, and the little girl wrapped her arms around Kyrin’s waist. Kyrin held her this way a moment, and then sat down on the edge of the bed, Meredith cuddling in her lap.

  “I wish I didn’t have to leave you,” Kyrin murmured, “but the people of Samara really need our help.”

  “What if you don’t come back?”

  “Well, I’m going to do everything I can to come back. And you can pray I’ll come back.”

  Meredith nodded against Kyrin’s chest.

  “Pray for Kaden and the other men to come back too,” Kyrin told her.

  “I will.” Meredith sniffed.

  Kyrin rubbed her arm and then turned, patting the mattress. “Come on, let’s try to sleep.”

  Meredith crawled to her spot, and Kyrin slipped off her boots to lie down beside her, holding her close.

  “I want you to be my sister forever,” Meredith said.

  “Me too.”

  Kyrin kissed the top of her head and quietly hummed the tune of a lullaby Meredith had taught her that her parents used to sing. Meredith nestled against her, letting out a soft sigh. Kyrin continued to hum until her throat ached too much with emotion. By this time, Meredith’s breathing had evened out in sleep. Kyrin lay still in the darkness for another few minutes, and two tears tracked down her face.

  Afraid she would lose all composure, Kyrin rolled quietly out of bed, tucking the blankets around Meredith. Wiping her cheeks, she grabbed her boots and left the loft. Her mother and Lenae sat talking at the table.

  “She’s asleep,” Kyrin whispered.

  She walked to the door to set her boots down and looked out the window toward the fire pit. A few flames still licked at the logs. Three figures sat around the fire. In the orange glow, she saw Kaden’s face and recognized their other two older brothers.

  Not yet ready for sleep, Kyrin slipped her boots on and grabbed her coat. She stepped out into the cool night and pulled on her coat. Her brothers’ deep voices and chuckles drew her closer. All three looked up when she reached the firelight.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting any boy talk.”

  Marcus shook his head. “We were just remembering some of the things we used to do as kids.”

  Kyrin claimed a spot next to Kaden. “We sure had some fun.”

  “Remember the old swamp fort?” her twin asked.

  Kyrin smiled fondly. “Oh, yes.” Their mother never thought much of them always tromping home muddied and wet, but their father had built them a small fort there anyway, complete with a working drawbridge. Her smile sank into a frown. “Except you three always made me the princess trapped by cave drakes.”

  Marcus chuckled. “And Kaden was the evil knight standing guard.”

  “Was not,” Kaden protested.

  Kyrin lifted her brow wryly. “Actually, you were.”

  He couldn’t argue with her memory so he shrugged. “Well, I had more fun throwing mud at Marcus than pretending to be the hero.”

  All four of them laughed. Of course, Marcus was always the hero coming to rescue the princess with his trusty companion Liam.

  “Those were the days,” Kyrin breathed.

  Her brothers nodded.

  “But I’ll never forget that one time we came back plastered in mud and the General had come for a visit.” Marcus shook his head. “He was furious.”

  Kyrin’s mind jumped back to that day, but their grandfather’s displeasure with them wasn’t what stood out to her. It was his heated words with their father. He had tried to get their grandfather to understand that they were just children enjoying their play, but the General wouldn’t have any of it. Apparently, he had believed they should act responsibly, even then. That was just before Kyrin and Kaden were taken away to Tarvin Hall.

  Kyrin shook off these memories as Kaden murmured, “I wonder if he’ll be in Samara.”

  They all looked at him.

  “He’ll be there,” Marcus said with quiet certainty. “He’ll be at the front, leading.”

  Silence settled as they each came to terms with this. It was the first time Kyrin had considered her brothers facing the General, their grandfather, in battle.

  Strong rays of warm morning sunshine filtered through the budding branches into camp. Grabbing the saddle bar, Jace pulled himself up onto Gem’s back. As he settled in for the long journey ahead, he looked down at Elanor and Elian. Even now, he wished this was a visit and not a goodbye. Just the other day he had wanted to leave camp, but now he wanted to stay so badly it was painful. If only he could get Kyrin to stay. But she never would, and he couldn’t ask that of her. She needed to follow her brothers.

  He glanced at her as she gave her mother one more tight hug. Where she went, he would go too. He may not be able to reveal his true feelings for her, but he intended to protect her to his dying breath, even if it meant laying aside his own desires.

  When his gaze refocused on her, Elanor gave him an encouraging smile. “We’ll be waiting for your return. Remember, you still have to show me Niton’s tricks.”

  This pulled a smile from Jace, though a weak one. Too many uncertainties lay in the future. Trying to share a little of his sister’s optimism, he said, “As soon as I get back.”

  She nodded, and Jace scanned the other mounting riders. Kyrin now sat on Ivoris, just to his right. Her cheeks were damp with tears, and he could understand just how she felt.

  On the other side of her, Aaron and Timothy mounted their dragons. Aaron was armed with his bow and a sword while
Timothy had a pair of short swords strapped to his back. Apparently, Darq had trained him over the winter in Dorland. Jace had been surprised by Timothy’s decision to join them, though not quite so much as Leetra had been. She’d gaped at him for more than a second before recovering her usual stoic expression. It was hard to imagine Timothy as a warrior, but Jace had seen stranger things.

  After giving his father, Baron Grey, a hug and Anne a parting kiss, Trask mounted last. From his dragon, he looked at Marcus, who sat on his horse at the head of the militia.

  “We’ll meet you in Samara,” he said, his voice a little husky with emotion. “Make sure to give Ashwood a wide berth. You don’t want any of Rothas’s men to spot you.”

  Marcus gave a firm nod.

  When Trask’s attention returned to those who would remain behind, so did Jace’s. They had all gathered in a close group to watch them leave. Most of the women had tears falling. Warin put his hand to Lenae’s back as she dabbed her eyes, proud yet fearful to see her son, Jeremy, march off with the militia. So many painful partings, and all potentially separating for the rest of this life.

  Jace cleared his throat. He shouldn’t think such things. His thoughts were bleak enough already.

  Baron Grey stepped forward, addressing the whole group. “We shall pray for all of you. May Elôm bring you back safely and spare Samara.”

  Trask nodded and, with determined eyes, looked at those willing to follow him into war. “Riders, let’s fly.”

  Amidst final calls of farewell, the dragons took to the air a couple at a time. Jace looked down at Elanor and Elian once more, forcing his voice past his lips. “Goodbye.”

  “Goodbye, Jace,” they replied as they backed away.

  Tearing his eyes from them, he murmured, “Gem, unai,” and soared up through the trees, joining the dragons filling the sky over Landale Forest.

  - Part Two -

  Elon

  Jace stared at the sight before them. Even from more than a mile off, the great fortress of Stonehelm inspired awe. Built of the same type of golden-hued stone as Auréa Palace, it rose high above the horizon, settled on a rise overlooking the northern Arcacian plains. A wide river flowed at the base of the rise, appearing from here as a thin, sparkling, silver ribbon. The giant border wall stretched to the rocky cliffs to the east and then off toward the marshes farther west. It did indeed seem impenetrable, but then, Daican’s army didn’t need to penetrate it if they could invade by sea.

  Grabbing his waterskin, Jace took a long drink as he waited with the others. Trask had taken Rayad, Tane, and Talas on ahead to the fortress to bring their good will. After all, a group of dragon riders could easily be mistaken as a threat, especially considering what they had witnessed just that morning.

  His gaze strayed to the burned out homes and buildings smoldering not far from where they rested. An entire village destroyed. Only dragons or firedrakes could leave such destruction, and this wasn’t the only devastation they had come upon as they drew near to Samara. It made no sense that the emperor would have Arcacian villages destroyed until Rayad explained that many Samarans had lived peacefully for generations just over the border of their own land, but no more. If the Samarans weren’t sure of war before, they would be now.

  Capping the waterskin, he hung it back over his saddle and rubbed his eyes. They stung under his eyelids as if they hadn’t closed in ages. Five days of travel wore on everyone, but for him it was more. Left entirely to his own thoughts day after day, he had tried to sort through the conflict and confusion in his heart. He wanted to do as his mother asked him, but after the first two days, he just couldn’t do it anymore. It left him too disturbed and frustrated.

  Maybe that was what had caused the nightmares to start on the second night. So far, he didn’t think he had woken anyone but Rayad, thankfully, but the dreams crept in every night. Strangely, they weren’t his usual visions of violence and condemning voices. These were vague and dark, and full of despair. In most, he died or was already dead and surrounded by emptiness. It was a deep, black void with nothing or no one but himself and his pain. He would try to run—try to escape, to fight—until he was nearly delirious with desperation. Then he would wake up, gasping and shaking and far more exhausted than when he’d fallen asleep.

  He sighed deeply, almost preferring his old nightmares. Maybe because these new ones too closely mirrored his deepest fears. He could not help but dwell on them as they neared Samara to do battle. For any one of them, death could be only a short time away. What then? What would happen to him? Would his soul go to Elôm as he had once believed? Would he simply cease to exist? Or would it be something even worse than that? Would his nightmares become reality? A hard shudder passed through him. Even now, he felt as though he were fighting it, just like in the dreams.

  He caught Kyrin watching him, her eyes searching and worried. He cleared his expression, but little good that would do now. She had already seen all. Avoiding her gaze, he turned to Gem and absently worked one of the buckles on her saddle. If Kyrin thought he was busy, maybe she wouldn’t try to talk to him. It was just too difficult to explain, and he already knew what she would say anyway.

  Neither of them had much time to talk since leaving Landale. They stopped for only short intervals during the day to eat and rest the dragons. At sunset, they set down to camp, ate supper, and turned in shortly after. In that brief time, Jace had begun Kyrin’s knife lessons. However, that brought a new challenge he had not anticipated. She learned fast since she never forgot anything, but every time he had to touch her to adjust her stance or to guide her, he struggled against wanting more—wanting to take her hand and not let go, or hold her for more than a brief hug. Even now, he scowled thinking of it. Why must everything in his life be a battle?

  At the sound of wings, Jace looked up. Trask and the others had nearly reached the group. Good thing too. Kyrin looked to have been on her way to talk to him. Now all attention focused on the returning riders. They slid down and everyone gathered around Trask.

  “Are we welcome?” Holden asked.

  Trask nodded. “The captain at the fortress understands that we are allies. He has sent a messenger to Westing Castle just northwest of the fortress to announce our arrival. Apparently, that is where King Balen is staying.”

  “Not at the capital?”

  “Apparently not, but it will be good for us to be able to give him our information right away. He’ll be able to put a plan into action immediately. We’ll give the rider a chance to get there and then head that direction ourselves.”

  “How does the fortress look from inside?” Aaron asked.

  “Strong. If Daican didn’t have other plans, I’d almost believe it could keep him out. They seem to have a large, well-trained garrison there.” Trask frowned. “But there were many civilians, most of them wounded in some manner. I didn’t ask, but I assume they are from the burned-out villages.”

  At least some had survived.

  For nearly twenty minutes, they waited before climbing atop their dragons once more. In the air, they flew northwest toward the prominently-placed Westing Castle. This gave the riders a good view of Stonehelm from above. The keep was a giant square, with rounded turrets at each of the four corners. A strong curtain wall encompassed it on all sides.

  They approached the castle rapidly. Like Stonehelm, it sat upon a hill. A village and many acres of farmland spread out around it like a skirt. Villagers worked busily at tilling the fields and putting in their crops. Jace scanned the land ahead. Aside from the dense forest to their left, there wasn’t much for trees—just open plains blanketed in dry, golden grass with the tint of green from new shoots beginning to grow. It had a certain beauty to it, but he much preferred the forest. There was no cover or protection on the plains.

  They landed in a vacant, untilled field just outside the village. In only moments, a group of curious onlookers gathered. Leaving Kaden’s men to keep an eye on things, the rest of the group followed Trask up the road t
oward the castle. Though he kept inconspicuously to the center of the group, Jace looked around curiously. He had seen many crowds of people, but this was his first time outside of Arcacia. These people were similar to the villagers of Landale, but more rugged. They looked strong, just like their surroundings, and ready to fight if need be. Even the women were not to be taken lightly.

  At the top of the sloping hill, the guards admitted them into the castle courtyard, and Jace looked up at the castle itself. Though it was half Stonehelm’s size, it was still very large and impressive. Like the fortress, its design was simple and it appeared that it could withstand a small siege itself.

  Before they had crossed half the stone-paved courtyard, a man met their company. He was average height, but strongly built, and had short-cropped black hair. A faint scar cut through his beard on the right side of his chin. He had the appearance and bearing of a military man, dressed in Samara’s official burgundy and black.

  “Welcome to Westing,” he greeted in a deep voice. “I am Mason, commanding general of Samara’s military force.”

  Trask introduced himself, and the two of them shook hands.

  “I was with Baron Thomas when he received news of your arrival,” Mason said. “He is waiting. I will show you inside.”

  They followed the general through the heavy oak doors and into the castle. The halls were dim and chilly as Jace expected, but furnished with enough tapestries and other colorful objects to keep it from being too bleak. Still, he would never like castles.

  As they neared the deeper interior, the stone walls gave way to wood beams and paneling. Off the main hall, Mason led them into a large meeting room occupied by a long table overhung with three chandeliers in the center.

  A man waited there. Like General Mason, his hair and beard were short, but white. He stepped forward to welcome them and introduce himself as the Baron of Westing. Though the lines creasing his weathered face hinted at worry, he had a soft-spoken and calm manner. In ways, he reminded Jace of Baron Grey.