Chapter 1
Cole
A silenced voice carried no tune.
That’s the thought that ran through Cole Tanniyn’s mind as one of the raiders thrust a rusty sword at his chest. He leaped back and smashed against a set of shelves holding sacks of flour. One tipped off the ledge and thumped on the floor by his feet.
Blazes! Cole had better pull it together, or he’d die before he ever reached Ice Island and could question his uncle.
While the Tsaftown army had been camped to the east of Mahanaim, Lord Livna had sent out several dozen patrols to check the area. Cole had been paired off with Thakkar Oruk, a living storm; and Alden Wroxton, the silent blade—two of the Fighting Fifteen—and of course, Kurtz Chazir, Cole’s friend, traveling companion, and fellow Mârad spy.
Their foursome had happened upon an outpost where two wagons sat empty, each hitched to a pair of rangy mules.
“Let’s look inside,” Thakkar had said, dismounting his black stallion.
“Grab your shield,” Kurtz told Cole. “Sword drawn too.”
Cole slid off Cherix’s back, drew his sword, and grabbed his shield off the saddlebag, trying not to let his annoyance at Kurtz’s continued mothering to show on his face.
He followed the others into a tiny outpost reeking of salted fish and onions. Shelves lined the walls and center of a cramped space no bigger than four peddler’s carts hitched in a square. Two men’s heads bobbed above the back shelves, while a burly third man stood in the front corner, stuffing candles into a sack.
Raiders.
“Ho there. It’s me, Thakkar.” The Berlander stood with his hands empty, palms raised. “Give me your names so I might know if you are friend or foe.”
At that, seven more heads appeared as men, who had been crouched or bent over, straightened to their full height.
Not good. Cole tightened his grip on his sword and moved his shield in front of him.
“We’re none of your business,” said the burly man stealing candles.
Thakkar quickly drew a pair of hand axes that gleamed in the dim light. “You’ve had your fill. Take what you’ve stolen and leave. Now.”
The raiders exchanged glances, their expressions defiant.
“There’s plenty to share, soldier,” the burly man said. “Feel free to help yourself, but you’ve no right to stop us.”
Thakkar sighed, almost pitying. “Have it your way.”
That’s when the fight began.
The raiders surged forward, fierce but uncoordinated in the cramped space. Thakkar met the burly man head-on, his hand axes moving in quick, precise arcs, disarming his foe in moments. Wroxton slipped through the maze of shelves and came up behind the raiders in back, while Kurtz intercepted a bearded man on their right.
Cole found himself face-to-face with a wiry fellow wielding a rusted sword. The raider lunged, which was how Cole had knocked into the shelves of flour. He barely deflected the next blow with his shield, stirring memories of the Battle of Armonguard and the Eben he’d accidentally killed. He couldn’t rely on dumb luck today. If he wanted to live—to reach Ice Island and see his uncle again—he had to fight. So he thrust out his sword.
The raider edged closer, grinning. “Don’t know how to use that very well, do you?”
Behind Cole’s wiry opponent, Thakkar whirled, hand axes flashing as he felled another raider, who crashed into a shelf, toppling sacks of beans and sending jars of honey spinning along the floor. A barrel of apples tipped over as well, scattering its contents past Cole’s feet.
The wiry man feinted left, then swung right, knocking Cole’s shield down the aisle. It hit a barrel and clattered to the floor.
Cole’s breath hitched as he tightened his grip on his short sword. The raider pressed forward, and Cole parried every strike. Without the shield, keeping up felt easier than before.
Maybe he really could do this.
The raider struck again. Cole raised his sword, but the man twisted mid-swing and executed a vicious underhand swipe. Cole blocked the blow, but his grip was too weak, and he dropped his sword.
Blazes!
