1: Sacred
Leiyn closed her eyes, tilted back her head, and breathed in.
Spring was in the air. Though the stiff breeze nipped her nose and chapped her hands, it brought with it scents sweet to behold. Of newborn leaves, and the promise of grass. The prelude to all that would soon arrive.
What stirred underground spoke even more of the changing season. Though the grass remained yellow, her lifesense detected the pops of life as seeds broke free of shells to grow roots and seek sunlight. On the broadleaved trees, the beginning of buds made the branches spark as if they caught flame.
Home—it inundated her every sense.
For a moment, her vigilance eased. The urgency to return to Baltesia and defend her homeland receded. Even the pestering thoughts over Sharo’s schemes and if Ata had yet tracked him down faded to the back of her mind.
She only inhaled and exhaled. Appreciating this fleeting moment. When even Feral's stench, cultivated over weeks, had a comforting edge.
"You stink," she muttered to the horse.
The mare huffed and tossed her head. Smiling, Leiyn reached out to stroke her mane.
And froze.
Something lurked beneath the fragrant bouquet. A sign of danger.
Hoping she imagined it, Leiyn inhaled again, deeper this time. There it was again—a caustic warning to nearby creatures.
Smoke. Must it be smoke?
It could mean nothing. Foolhardy hunters, young or desperate, might venture up this way from around Folly, risking titans and wild beasts to earn their next meal. Or perhaps conditions in the south had driven folks north to try their tools at taming the land. The frontier resisted such efforts at every turn, yet it had not stopped hopeful colonists from making the attempt each spring.
But it could be an omen. The specter of war hung heavy over the lands, even this far out into the Titan Wilds. Instead of settlers, enemies might linger near. A ranger did not ignore a potential threat. Especially when they were the last one.
In the north, at least.
Exhaling, Leiyn expanded her awareness through the wilderness. Though her mahia always lay open, it contracted to half a league around her when she was not embodying it. Now, she reached across dozens of leagues, searching for the source of the fire.
It took moments to find the intruders, and a moment more to fan suspicion into flame. The hill on which they camped was distinctive. Though she had not often experienced the Titan Wilds through her mahia, she knew this land too intimately to mistake it.
Thirty humans squatted amid the ruins of the Wilds Lodge.
Leiyn held little as holy in her life. Though she paid homage to the Saints and beheld Almighty Omn with wary respect, they were distant beings, their sanctity disconnected from the day to day of living. It was the same with Refugio, the island central to the Catedrál, despite the claims of its priestesses that it was the place closest to the divine in all of Unera.
Now, for the first time, she understood sanctity. For these trespassers trod on her hallowed ground.
She did not know who they were, but where they walked was cause enough for anger. Yet she did not storm off in pursuit as she might have a year before. Experience had hammered home Tadeo’s oft-repeated lesson. She could not afford to be rash.
Neither could she ignore it.
Dismounting, Leiyn took her longbow in hand and slung her quiver of broadhead arrows across her back. Her remaining long knife was sheathed at the back of her weapons belt. The pouch of amber beads, gifted by Mother Xepi and brimming with esse, were tied to the front. The titanbone falchions she had claimed from the Iritu ruins of Qasaar hung from either hip. She had not tested them against ordinary steel, but if they could slay lyshans, she suspected they would suffice here.
Her clothes were less satisfactory. Though imbued with an ancient mahia—Inheritance, as Ata called it—they would defy a killing blow as handily as plate armor, but the aqua-and-gold tunic did not blend in among the spring-green woods. Still, if a battle lay ahead, she would need the protection.
“Stay,” she murmured to Feral, reaching out with both her hand and magic. The horse flinched away, but settled as the calming touch took effect. She smiled grimly. Xepi’s trick had worked this time; with the unruly mare, it was always uncertain.
Turning, Leiyn pulled her cloak tight about her, then slunk into the shadowed boughs.
* * *
A dozen signs betrayed them. The glint of sunlight on helms. The regimented fortifications ringing the camp. The color of their coats. The style of their tents.
But most telling of all was the flag they flew above the ruins: a yellow orb arrayed against white fabric.
Suncoats.
Leiyn tightened her fist on the bow stave until the ashwood creaked. She tried to draw a breath and calm her racing pulse. Her chest felt enwrapped by a coil of rope.
Suncoats had burned her home. That they would defile it a second time was an insult too far.
Breathe. Just breathe. Air does not know worry.
She held back not from the daunting odds alone. Should it come to that, she suspected she could more than match their force. Reaching the edge of the forest encircling the Wilds Lodge, she sought after the faint connection ever present in the back of her mind.
The thread had frayed from time and disuse, but enough remained that she could feel the ash dragon swimming through the molten rivers far below. He had kept near her, even as she left behind the mountain from which he had first erupted, which she had taken as inspiration for his name.
Clouded Fang had taken a shine to her, it seemed.
Noticing her attention, the ash dragon turned one burning eye upon her. Her impression of him was too vague to be called sight, yet somehow, she knew he beheld her. Leiyn stiffened at his attention. Before, he had been her salvation, filling her with lifeforce so that even Man’nah, lord of the lyshans, could not kill her.
Yet Leiyn doubted she would ever feel easy before titans. Their minds were too strange, their motives uncertain. Did they have thoughts like humans, or act by pure instinct? Though she had named the dragon, she was not so certain of him as to depend on his mercy.
The titan lingered a moment, then moved on, his presence fading from her awareness.
Air whooshed from Leiyn’s lungs. She only took a moment before focusing back on her surroundings. The titan’s inconstancy was only the first complication. The second lay to the south of the hill.
She and the Suncoats were not alone.
On the south side of the hill lay another score of intruders. Though she had yet to travel around the Lodge’s ruins to see more, she doubted they were more Suncoats. Holding the advantageous position atop the highest point around, there was little reason to split their forces. More likely was this was an opposing faction; a militia from Folly, perhaps, or a force mustered from the few farms this far north. But she would not pin her life on that hope.
All too easily, she could imagine Isla’s expression at her plans. How Batu would shake his head, and Acalan frown. Teya, at least, would smile and fondly call her “Redlock.”
For their sakes, she could not throw away her life after a notion of vengeance. Not when she was one of the few Baltesians who could wield mahia, an ability sorely needed in this war. Nor were these men the true object of her hatred. They were pieces in a greater game, moved by players Leiyn had yet to fully identify.
With a last glance at the Lodge, Leiyn sighed and melded back into the woods.
She gave the Ilberian soldiers a wide berth as she made for the second camp. Evening was swiftly falling; the forest grew dark and still.
All the better.
By her lifesense, she could see all that was alive—and in these woods, that was most everything. The roots that might have tripped her. The branches that could lay her low. Ferns, flowers, and shrubs lit the forest floor, guiding her through with scarcely a sound. Even dead leaves were outlined by feasting bugs and a shimmer of infinitesimal life.
This was her territory. Her sacred land. She was a predator prowling through the shadows, prepared to defend it.
Dusk had set in as the camp came into view. Noting the positions of the four sentries posted around the edges, she subdued her magic and observed what she could with her eyes. No fire lit their camp. They were sheltered among trees rather than out in a clearing. Despite this and the gloom, she could pick out enough details from the nearest watcher to draw her conclusions. One difficult to accept.
Plainsriders.
Their leather lamellar armor, their horsebows, their hair pulled up into topknots and bound with red fabric—all signs pointed to the Gazian counterparts to the rangers. The realization brought a fresh flush of anger.
Leiyn stubbornly fought it back down. To reason out this mystery, she needed a clear head.
Think, Firebrand, for one Legion-damned moment.
She came up with three explanations. The first was a stretch: that this was another attempt by the Suncoats to stage an incident. The Ilberians who had attacked the Lodge had dressed as Gasts; perhaps they now attempted a similar ruse. But who would it be for, and what would they stand to gain? Their allegiances were already out in the open.
The second thought seemed more likely. Taban, the snake who had seized the Gazian Greathouse for his own, knew the Wilds Lodge had fallen. By his prior actions, he appeared aligned with Ilberia. Thus, he might have brought his plainsriders to bolster the Suncoats’ position, but did not trust his allies enough to camp directly with them.
There was a third possibility: the moorwarden was seizing land for Altan Gaz, taking advantage of the vacancy left by the rangers. Taban’s ambition was certainly sufficient to the task.
None of these scenarios left the Gazians as allies. Considering plainsriders had tried killing her and her friends in the recent past, she doubted they could be.
Leiyn flared her lifesense and sat back on her haunches, gnawing her lip. Two groups of enemies, and she could do nothing about either of them—not without significant risk.
The prudent ranger would continue south to report it to Mayor Itzel, then leave her to handle them. She had an urgent mission of her own: conveying tidings of the Gast alliance, then standing by her friends and Mauricio as the Ilberian Armada landed on their shores.
But she could not leave. These raiders trampled on her home. How could she not come to its defense?
She felt afar for Feral, left behind with her saddlebags. Unsure how long she would be gone, Leiyn had supplied the horse with water and feed. She would not suffer from neglect. For herself, however, it would make for an uncomfortable night and a likely pointless vigil. But her mind was made up.
Stubborn fool.
Leiyn leaned back against the tree, laying her bow and its nocked arrow across her lap. Settling in for the long watch.
Her opportunity took mere minutes in coming.
She sensed him: a man moving beyond the periphery of the scouts, then squatting down. Relieving himself, she guessed with a grim smile. He was just far enough away from their camp for a quiet conversation to go unheard.
Like a jaguar in the night, she closed in on her prey.
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