Reike snorted. “Didn’t think so.” She observed the surroundings: the cart, the bow, and the arrows on the ground. “And what is this about?”
The boy with a fox-like face and dark, eager eyes stepped forward. “We’re practicing! The raiders’ test is three weeks away.”
A groan escaped Reike. She ran a hand through her curly, short hair. “Raiders? And how old are you, again, Jaun?”
The tallest and brawniest of the boys puffed his chest and brandished the bow. “There’s no limit. We can shoot. Wield a sword. We can take the test!”
“Oh, sure, you can take the test. And get laughed at by everyone else, you silly swamp rats,” Reike swore. “The youngest raider accepted has been sixteen summers.”
“Not true,” Dietric raised his voice. “The Warlord…” He faltered. As if to fortify himself against the older woman’s glare, he squared his shoulders. A mirage of Byne stood there, his mouth pursed tight and a serious expression on that narrow face. “The Warlord rode with them even younger.”
The shield snorted. “He’d be the first one to ban you from joining. You know that.”
The young faces fell.
Reike grunted. “Well, nothing has happened. You all hop into your cart and head home. I may, just may, forget to mention this to Shield Fritlingen.” She gave Dietric a pointed look. “Or your parents.”
The boys raised their voices in complaint. Trisha chuckled as they tried to sway the shield.
Dapple shifted. Her hand tightened as she glanced around. The world looked the same to Trisha: sweet-smelling heather, green bushes that the wind swayed, and blue sky. It comforted her. Dapple tossed his head toward the northern trail. Then, she, too, saw what had made him react—dark shapes on horseback, approaching.
“Reike,” she called, cutting through the argument. “Do you know who’s coming from over there?”
“Boys,” Reike’s voice cracked like a whip. “Behind me. Now!”
The riders drew nearer, their horses’ hooves thunderous, growing louder with each beat against the ground. A group of warriors with spears and shields, the light mirroring on the metal of their helmets and fortified armor plates.
Dapple’s cowering thoughts reached her. He wanted to run, but Trisha reined him in. When the foremost rider cameinto view, Trisha’s belly clenched. That gray-shaded beard, face carved of stone, brawny shape despite the frosted years he carried on his hair: Annath Wolfbach.
Annath’s men followed behind him, stern and tight-lipped—and heading straight toward them. Annath’s gaze flew first to Trisha, then to Reike on the ground. A tall, muscular man with an ugly gash on his face rode beside him. Ernaut. His eyes were glued to Reike, a scary intensity in his expression. A wave of fear crawled over Trisha.
At their leader’s gesture, the Wolfbach soldiers fanned out, their pace slowing. Once the men reached Trisha, Reike, and the boys, they formed a half-circle, hemming them in. Only his adjutant remained by Annath’s side—a silent, ominous figure with burning eyes that never left Reike.
Annath’s horse snorted, flanks lathered, fighting the bit. The beast danced a few steps closer. The man’s gaze narrowed, face twisting into a sneer. “The Warlord has found his trophy, seems.”
His soldier chuckled, and annoyance flushed Trisha’s cheeks. She lifted her chin. “I’m here of my own choosing, Chief Wolfbach.”
He chuckled, unamused. “Yer a fool to trust the Warlord. But then again, it’s only fittin’. Dewingar men are nothin’ but fools themselves.” His attention moved to Reike, a darker expression flying across his face. “Reike Stammek, fancy seein’ ye ‘ere.”
Ernaut leaned forward in his saddle, hands resting on the pommel. Trisha swallowed, perspiration starting. Annath’s tone promised violence.
29
Reikefaced Annath and his men. Her hand didn’t stray far from her sword. “Chief Wolfbach,” she acknowledged with a nod, mouth drawn.
Despite Reike’s command, the boys remained in their place. Annath watched them for too long. “Ye’ve been demoted to a nursemaid?” His chuckle was biting. “Had ye said ‘yes’ to my nephew, ye could’ve had yer own to look after.”
“I’m a Blutmeer and the Warlord’s shield,” Reike said through her gritted teeth, “not some breeding mare for Wolfbachs.”
Trisha pulled Dapple’s reins tighter. The crackling hostility in the air prickled her neck.
Ernaut scoffed. “So proud, Reike, to be in Dewingar’s tow?”
“Better in his tow than under you. How do you like your scar?”
Anger twisted the man’s face. Unexpectedly, he relaxed and smiled. The red scar twisted as though alive. “Fancy for ye to ask. I’ve been waiting to return it.”
“You’re welcome to try,” Reike taunted.
