7: The Writ
She hadn't known she was going to shoot.
Emotion and instinct guided Leiyn's actions. In smooth, well-practiced movements, she drew back, aimed, and let the arrow fly. Only as the missile sailed toward the Gast did uncertainty crack through her anger. A dozen doubts assailed her in the suspended moment of flight. What if the paper was legitimate? What if a gust whipped up and moved the arrow off course?
What if she killed him?
He deserves it, she told herself. He's a Gast. He's killed dozens of us—
The arrow struck.
The paper that had been in the chieftain's hand tore free as the shaft caught it and pinned it to the ground. The Gast looked at the document. Though he must have realized the narrow margins by which he remained alive, she detected no fury in his expression, nor any other emotion, when he turned his gaze up to her. He seemed a man carved from a mountain, cold and steady. It was a quality she could almost admire had he not been who and what he was.
"You do not seem to have cut the signature, at least," the Gast told her.
"Leave it. If the writ is legitimate, then I'll return it to you later. If not, then I and my fellow rangers will hunt you down to the last man and woman. Do you understand me?"
The Gast gave her a wide, toothy smile. "Perfectly, Ranger."
Leiyn jerked her head southward, the direction in which they'd been traveling. "Keep moving, then."
At that, the Gast party pressed on, carefully navigating around where she'd pinned the document to the ground. More than one native glared up at her. Their muttering was barely audible at the distance.
But their outrage was nothing compared to her own.
It won't be legitimate, she assured herself as the Gasts moved out of sight. It cannot be. If it was a forgery, however, she was in an even more precarious position than before, for it would mean they had indeed come for blood. Down in the meadow, she'd be vulnerable to an assault. Even where she presently stood, Gast scouts might be bearing down on her.
She had to move swiftly.
Leiyn bent and retrieved the second bow she'd lain at her feet. The warbow had a lighter draw weight and more manageable size, making it suited to close-range archery or shooting from a saddle. With both bows in hand, she sprinted to her horse and quickly strapped in her longbow. Keeping the warbow in hand, she leaped atop the stallion.
"Ride, Steadfast!" she hissed, fear and exhilaration grabbing her by the throat.
The horse tossed his head before bolting around the backside of the cliff. Their speed was perilous, but Leiyn let the stallion have his head. They barreled down the hill until the incline leveled, then she turned Steadfast back toward where the meadow lay.
As they approached, Leiyn slowed to a trot. Her every sense strained to detect the Gasts around her, listening for cracking branches, rustling in the brush, watching for shadows among the trees.
But even then, though the lifesense granted by her magic might alert her to the presence of Gasts waiting to ambush her, she kept her mahia securely dammed.
The trees ended, and the meadow unfolded around her. As far as she could tell, no Gasts lingered nearby. Squinting at the cliff where she'd made her ambush, she failed to detect anyone along it, though the blinding sun made it difficult to be sure.
Spurring Steadfast to a gallop again, Leiyn went to her arrow and the paper rustling in the breeze, then leaped off the stallion. Pulling up the arrow, she gave it a cursory look, confirming that the shaft hadn't broken, the fletching was intact, and the head was still on tight before thrusting it back into the quiver. Then, with one more scan of her surroundings, she examined the document.
Writ of Passage, it read at the top. The arrowhead had torn through the middle sections, but the signatures and wax seal on the bottom remained intact. Instead of the governor's signature and seal, a conqueror had made his mark. Lord Conqueror Armando Pótecil, the name read.
Leiyn scowled at the paper. Conquerors were the top-ranking military officials serving the Caelrey, World King Baltesar, high monarch of the Ilberian Union and the ruler of her home colony, Baltesia. As such, a conqueror's signature legitimized the writ of passage. The Gasts were within Baltesia's borders on legal grounds.
Which meant, if anyone had been in the wrong, it was Leiyn.
A sound behind; the scuffle of a foot on stone. In a breath, Leiyn had nocked and drawn her bow, whipping around to aim at the cliff above.
He was a silhouette atop it, the bright sun's rays cutting into her eyes. But even before he spoke, she knew it was the Gast chieftain.
"Can we have our writ back now, Ranger?"
Leiyn bared her teeth. She should yield to his request; there was no reason she shouldn't. But her tongue betrayed her.
"I have to take this back to the Wilds Lodge to confirm it. Tell me your route. Once we've validated it, I'll have someone return it to you."
"You will not bring it yourself?"
She remained silent as she squinted up at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer.
"Very well, Ranger. Your authority reigns supreme in these lands, where once my people roamed." More than a tinge of bitterness laced his words. "We make for Folly. We have items to trade and deals to strike."
Their paper might legitimize their travel, but Leiyn would never believe they were here for commerce. Even if they seemed to have packed more than a war party normally would.
Leiyn remained silent, returned her arrow to its quiver, and mounted Steadfast. Looking around once again, she pressed her heels into the horse's flanks, then took off at a canter. She felt the Gast's gaze, silent and mocking, on her back even after she disappeared among the trees.
She didn't slow until leagues lay between them.
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