Fyrian's Fire Read online

  Tess nodded. She was a strong rider; she had to be to handle Jesse’s speed.

  Two Canyon horses galloped wildly down Nobleman’s Road. And though the Atheonians had gained ground, their glowing torches served as perfect targets for Ryon. He twisted underneath Tess’s arm, clinging close to Jesse’s body. Before long, Tess heard the agonized screams of two men. Still, with Tess and Dahly riding side by side, the remaining two Atheonians were only three lengths behind.

  A frightening rush of feathers swooped over Tess’s head, nearly throwing her off of Jesse’s back. She screamed. The feathery shadow descended on her again, and this time Tess could clearly make out the outline of a crow. Its beak was open as it reached for her shoulder with its talons. For one paralyzing moment, Tess saw the bird’s eyes. They were milky gray, unseeing.

  “Get away.” Ryon batted at the bird. It wavered, circled overhead, and dove again. Ryon swung his sling, leaving the rock inside and using it as a mace. It hit its mark just as the crow’s beak was inches from Tess’s neck. The bird dropped out of sight.

  “I’ll lead them off,” Dahly cried.

  Before Tess could protest, her sister pulled her mare into the thick brush that bordered Nobleman’s Road. A moment passed. Tess dared not look behind her. Then, a shrill whinny sounded close behind—the Atheonians had stayed on the road.

  Grasping Ryon’s waist with one hand and Jesse’s mane with the other, Tess leaned forward and spoke in Jesse’s ear, “Let’s get out of here.”

  Jesse stretched his solid legs across the ground with a new burst of speed, his hooves thundering smoothly against the road. The air swirled around Tess’s face, roaring in her ears as Jesse bolted away from the last of the Atheonians.

  Tess buried her head in the blond stallion’s neck and concentrated on her breathing, trying not to let fear get the better of her. Every passing tree looked like an ambush. Every snap that echoed through the brush sounded like an approaching Atheonian.

  As they fled into the dark, Tess thought of Reggie, who could throw a man twenty feet in the air with one growl. She thought of the copper orbs in her hair, which the crow had almost taken. She thought of her mother and father, and their home consumed by flames.

  As Jesse, Tess, and Ryon sped into the night, the stars began to give way to the first creeping light of dawn. Navy clouds raced across the sky. Tess held Ryon tight. Just a little longer and they would reach a bend in the road leading to the castle. Soon they would be safe.

  Eventually, the brush turned to shaggy trees. Tess saw neither the clouds nor the stars. It occurred to her they should have made it to the bend by then. Tess slowed her horse’s gait. All was still and silent; not even an insect could be heard. The air hung close.

  “Tessy, are we lost?” Ryon whispered.

  Tess peered around her in the gloom of early dawn, searching for anything that might look familiar. Ahead, she could make out the silhouettes of dense, gnarled tree trunks. Beneath her horse’s hooves, the ground was covered in soft moss.

  They were most certainly lost.

  Tess sat cross-legged beside a sputtering fire in her nightgown and riding boots. Next to her, Jesse whinnied softly, and Ryon lay curled up on the moss. Tess twisted the pearls around her finger, and they caught the first rays of the sun stretching between tangled forest branches. She glanced at Ryon to make sure he was asleep.

  “Jesse, I’ve always told you my secrets. I know I’d go mad otherwise.” She walked to his butterscotch head and touched his flat cheek. “But last night I acted so unforgivably. I don’t know . . . will you see me differently?” He nuzzled her hand. Tess leaned against her friend’s strong neck, clutching the braid Queen Aideen had woven. “Last night, Queen Aideen gave me something she claims has protected Glademont for generations.” Tess buried her face in Jesse’s ivory mane. “I was supposed to keep it hidden, that’s all. One simple task. But I didn’t. I was so angry with Prince Linden for making a fool of me, and I was confused and . . . and I met a man.” The muscles in Jesse’s neck tensed. “I don’t know how it happened—I showed it to him. And suddenly those Atheonians appeared on our doorstep, knowing what I have. They will catch me, Jesse. And then Glademont will fall.”

  Tess stroked her horse’s forelock and stared at his eyes. She knew he was listening. Would he really keep his vow of silence, even now? When everything was falling apart?

  A log snapped in the fire, and orange sparks shot into the air. Startled, Tess wrapped her arms about Jesse’s neck. He nickered.

  “I am a coward,” she said with her face against Jesse. “I am as weak as the prince believes me to be.”

  “Looks like you’ve gotta use that mystery object now, don’tcha think?” asked a baritone voice.

  “What in the heavens—” Tess jumped and nearly fell into the fire.

  A robust little towhee flitted to Jesse’s haunches. His black head and wings stood out like an overcoat over a soft white breast and thick red stripes beneath the shoulders. “There, there, there.” He twittered pleasantly. “Now, now, now. I’m in no need for all that huffle and puffle.”

  It was shocking that such a deep voice could come from such a small beak. Almost as shocking as the familiar way with which he addressed perfect strangers.

  “Pardon me, but you are standing on my horse,” Tess said.

  “Ooooooh, I don’t mind. A horse is worth a thousand branches in my book.”

  Tess blinked. This creature was possibly mad. Hadn’t General Bud instructed the prince not to speak to the wild animals? Had she already betrayed the shenìl for the second time? Tess adjusted her approach.

  “If we have trespassed in any way . . .”

  “Horses are noble creatures, you know. Most humans forget that, because they sit on chairs as often as they do horses. I say the only similarity is that they both have legs.”

  “Forgive me, but may I ask who you are?”

  Shaking out his wings, the towhee clacked his beak twice. “Most just call me Profigliano” was his answer.

  Tess blinked again at the small bird.

  “Now, as to the object in your head feathers . . .”

  “I do not wish to discuss the subject with you, if you don’t mind.” Tess’s heart raced. “I meant only to confide in my horse.”

  Profigliano hopped sideways until he reached Jesse’s shoulder. “There’s nothing sneaky about a fellow hearing what’s being said.”

  “I fail to see how my predicament is your concern,” Tess murmured, still hoping not to wake Ryon. The sooner this bird was on his way, the better.

  Profigliano looked at Tess, his expression grave.

  “Listen here, old girl,” he said. “If you are going to be adventuring about in this here Hinge Forest, you will need to use your best forest manners.” Stunned by this scolding, Tess fell silent. Profigliano continued. “There are heaps and heaps of creatures in this cobwebby old wood, and most of them do not take kindly to visitors. From now on, you better do a little sifting before you dump your words all over the place.”

  “Are we really in the Hinge Forest?” Ryon sat up, wide awake. “Excuse me, I am Master Ryon Canyon.” He stood to bow to the towhee. “And this is my elder sister, Lady Tessamine.” Tess shot Ryon a deadly glare. Profigliano, on the other hand, seemed pleased.

  “Well, well, well,” he said, clacking his beak. “My, my, my. That’s what I’m talkin’ about.” His white underbelly glowed in the morning sun as he swooped down to Tess’s satchel. Turning to Ryon, he bowed reverently.

  “My name is Profigliano Julius Towhee the Eleventh, and in the name of Queen Aideen, I pledge to assist you in your quest—until death!”

  Ryon grinned from ear to ear. Tess, on the other hand, was not so taken in. She pondered the eager bird.

  “Master Profigliano, you are mistaken,” she said. “We pursue no quest. Our only concern is to rejoin
our family at Glademont Castle.”

  “Tessamine,” replied Profigliano. “You are most certainly and without a doubt on a quest. If it looks like pie and smells like pie, you might as well loosen your belt.”

  Ryon was still grinning, his hands shoved in his pockets.

  “Skies help me,” Tess said. “I have yet to see the quest in this.”

  “The object.” Profigliano twittered. “You said it yourself; the thug bugs from the other kingdom know you’ve got it. You might as well learn how to use it. Then you can face ’em when they get ya.”

  It wasn’t a bad point, even considering its source. Tess held her braid out, and an orb buzzed against her fingers. Was it communicating with her?

  “What is it, Tessy?” Ryon approached, peering into her black strands.

  She sighed. “It’s the reason we were attacked, I think. Queen Aideen gave it to me for safekeeping. She said it had the power to protect Glademont from red magic.”

  “Like what the hound used against Reggie?” Ryon frowned.

  Tess nodded. “Though it didn’t seem so powerful then. There is a magician named Pider . . . he was willing to kill the queen to get this. Now he will be after me.” Tess swallowed. She couldn’t bring herself to tell Ryon of her treason. She couldn’t bear to guess what he’d think of her.

  “If we try to get to the castle now, we’ll run right into those Atheonians,” Ryon said.

  “What else can we do?” Tess rubbed her forehead. “We have no idea whether the rest of the family made it to safety. They may still need us.”

  “I see, I gotcha, hold a second then.” Profigliano scratched his head with a talon. “My bird-brain is tellin’ me that Tessy and the young master have got to go into the jungle, and not back through the prairie, if ya know what I mean.” He shook his feathers with an air of importance. “So I’ll just have to slip over to the grand old mountain house and observe what I can see for myself.”

  “You know Glademont Castle? Have you been there before?” Tess looked incredulously at Profigliano. The bird hopped from one foot to the other, looking out of the corners of his eyes and rubbing his head with his wing.

  “Thaaaaat’s a whole lotta questioning for one human, if ya wanna know what I think. So a bird’s got the itch to travel—why all the hoopla?”

  “I’m sorry, it’s just that you said the creatures in this forest weren’t fond of—”

  “Profigliano said this! Profigliano said that! We’re gettin’ real cheeky over here in this camp.” The towhee’s voice raised in pitch to a low tenor. “So what if I fly out to see the mountains every-so-now-and-again? So what if I’m the only Hinger that leaves these stuffy trees? Those mountain jays are a good bunch of chirpers.”

  “I see,” Tess said. “And I thank you for your offer, but if you will just lead us out of the forest, Ryon and I will . . .”

  She could not finish her sentence. What if Ryon was right and they were walking right into the hands of the Atheonians? Queen Aideen’s words rang in Tess’s head: Keep it safe.

  “Aaaaall right, no need to be insulting.” Profigliano flew in a circle about the trunk of a nearby hemlock. “All you have to worry about is that special thingy in your hair. I’m no expert, but it sounds like the safer you are, the safer is the Mont of Glades. Moreover and hitherto, it is my first order of duty, as your dedicated Hinge Guide and Quest Captain, to make sure you stay far away from those Fatheos fellows.”

  After another lap around the hemlock, Profigliano flitted back to Tess and alighted on her wrist. He met her puzzled look with a shrug of his wings.

  “What do you have to lose?”

  And with that, the baritone towhee disappeared through the trees. Tess sighed as she watched him go.

  “I have everything to lose,” she said.

  The forest air was cool, and the sun’s rays glowed faintly through ancient trees. Under different circumstances, Tess would have enjoyed reading a good love story in their branches. But the tainted experience of her first kiss might have killed her affinity for romance for good. She stared woefully at the web of swaying timber. No two trees in the forest were alike. Spruces, oaks, hollies, and pines were all arrayed together like a bed of wildflowers. Each trunk was as thick as six men, rising like pillars into a silent stand. Strangest of all was the silence. It gave her the distinct impression of being watched.

  Neither Tess nor Ryon had slept more than a few hours, and the effects were evident. Ryon’s jacket was hopelessly crumpled, and his cinnamon hair swirled defiantly upward on the left side of his head. Tess groaned and pulled her cloak around her thin nightgown. Stroking her braid, she felt the shenìl. She followed the thin leather strap as it interlaced with her hair, down to the copper balls that adorned each end.

  “What do we do now?” Ryon said.

  “I don’t know.” Reluctantly, she set to work pulling apart her hair. She held the shenìl in her palm, with the long strap coiled in a pile. The spheres on either end of the strap ignited with a soft light, creating a warm buzzing against her skin.

  “By the skies,” Ryon whispered.

  Tess carefully turned each orb in her hands. The surfaces were smooth; no inscriptions. The light from the orbs receded.

  “Do you think it’s a good sign when the glowing stops?” Ryon asked.

  “I doubt it.” Tess slowly uncoiled the strap, running her fingers along it until they caught on a small dangling item. “I found something.”

  It was an oval medal, no bigger than a thumbnail. Waving markings ran around its perimeter. Tess could not make out the symbols, but she distinctly observed a figure etched into the center of the medal.

  “It’s a woman’s torso,” she said. “See there? She has long hair, and these must be her hands in some sort of pose.”

  “What is that on her stomach?” Ryon said. “It looks like a flame.”

  Then Tess remembered. “Queen Aideen spoke of fire when she gave the shenìl to me. She said if I listened to it, I would become fire.” She shivered at the thought and moodily worked the shenìl back into her hair. The braid was not so intricate as when the queen had spun it, but it would hold. “If we are going to stay here until I learn to use this, we may turn old and gray among these trees.”

  “I’m afraid that is out of the question,” came a startling reply from above.

  Tess looked upward and found, perched on the ancient branches of the surrounding trees, a host of several hundred birds of different size and color. Lack of sleep and a strong dislike for being surprised had made Tess bold. She stepped forward, directing her gaze somewhere between a violet canary and an orange chickadee.

  “Can there be no privacy in this wood?” Tess demanded. “Or are its creatures unaccustomed to introductions?” Ryon tugged at Tess’s cloak.

  “Its creatures consider humans a special case,” replied a large red owl. The creature spread a pair of grand wings and glided to the forest floor. “I suggest you quickly and politely tell us what you are doing in the Hinge Forest, girl.”

  Chapter 6

  The trail along the foothills of the Zere Mountain stretched west from Glademont Castle toward the northernmost border of the Hinge Forest. Though it was nearing midnight, Linden’s horse sauntered comfortably in the dark. She had borne him along this path almost every evening for months. Over an hour had passed since Linden had been sent away on this ludicrous errand, and he let his mare pick her way across the shale and weeds at her own pace. His hands took turns clenching the saddle horn. He was almost to the tree line, and he closed his eyes to concentrate on the familiar silence of those ancient branches.

  The canopy covered Prince Linden and his mount like a thick quilt. He felt his confidence slowly returning. If delivering this absurd letter to King Nabal was what Queen Aideen requested of him, he would obey. But he would carry out his mission on his own terms—that meant weapons. He wou
ld not die a fool in a foreign country. He would arrive in Nabal’s court a warrior, a true prince.

  And he would leave alive.

  Linden’s mare halted and lowered her head to graze on a tuft of moss. The prince almost nudged her to continue on until he saw the beech tree. A shot of exhilaration stirred him from his gloomy thoughts, and he slipped from his saddle onto the brittle carpet of leaves. He scaled the tree, digging the toes of his boots into shallow notches along its trunk and steadying himself against the sloping branches. At the center of the beech, perhaps three men high, rested a small, thatched-roof hut. Its round sides fit snugly against the tree’s creaking arms. Linden hoisted himself onto a branch and balanced along it to where a low door greeted him.

  Until the first night of his cursed wedding festival, every evening Linden spent in the Armory was a good one. Six months ago he, Nory, and Rette built this hideaway to stash the weapons they made. Before their drills, the three of them would swagger around the small hut, testing the swords and arrows, making note as to how their next attempts would fare even better. Rette made regular journeys to Green Reed to consult with a blacksmith sworn to secrecy. Linden’s covert visits down to the archive rooms revealed more and more of the art of weaponry. The thrill of possibility and power pulsed through their veins.

  But the feeling that shivered through Linden’s limbs now was a kind of dreadful anticipation. They were no longer preparing for a distant, romantically epic war. Instead they were scrambling to defend themselves against a possible horde of seasoned soldiers. Linden struck a match, lit the lantern, and scanned the carefully arranged bows, lances, knives, and shields within his Armory. He thought of Nory and Rette wrangling undisciplined, naive young Glademontians in the castle at that very moment. How long did they have before the assassin returned for the queen’s life? How long before Nabal mobilized his own forces? Glademont’s defenselessness haunted Linden like a dormant disease, ready to flare, poised to expose his weakness.

  He set his jaw and strode to his longbow, savored the feel of the wood grain against his palm and plucked the string. Quickly, he strapped his quiver to his back and stashed a dagger in a thin sheath sewn inside his boot. It was one of the first ways he devised to conceal a weapon on his person. Every time he touched it, he thought of his father, and how things would be different if the king had had even a simple dagger in his boot when he last left Glademont. . . .