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She reached out and touched the cool, rainbow-hued stone of the temple wall. “I wish Anahar could sing for them, calling them as she called the Anari….” Her voice trailed off as a thought struck her.
“The stones!” Cilla and Sara said on a single breath.
“Aye!” Eagerly, Tess drew forth the leather pouch she wore always around her neck. Walking to the center of the room, she spilled the stones upon the floor. “We know two of them have fallen under the Enemy’s sway.”
“These,” Sara said. She pointed as she watched two of them roll apart from the others and begin to make their ways across the floor, toward two of the statues. One of the stones was beryl, the other yellow quartz.
The three of them stared dubiously at the remaining nine stones. Cilla reached out, removing the opal, which was Tess’s, the sapphire which was Sara’s, and the emerald which was her own. That left amethyst, ruby, carnelian, topaz, garnet, jade and turquoise. Those, too, then began to roll across the floor, drawn by an unseen force.
“Should we do this?” Sara asked, her voice hushed. “We don’t know how many may belong to Ardred.”
“Nor do we want Ardred to know we are summoning them,” Tess pointed out. “Although I am not certain we can avoid it. He has Ilduin serving him.”
“And we know at least two of them,” Cilla said, pointing to the two stones that had begun to roll toward their statues before turning away from them and coming to rest near each other. The other stones had seemingly scattered themselves around the room.
Cilla continued, “Even so, Ardred’s Ilduin will know we are doing something. How can they not? We seem to be joined tightly to one another, all twelve, in some way.”
“And those who have no notion that they are Ilduin might not even understand the contact,” Sara said.
Tess had fallen silent as she stared at the stones. For a time, no sound passed among the women. “There is a riddle here,” she said finally. She placed her stone onto the floor. “Place down your stones, sisters.”
The three stones rolled across the floor, coming to rest in a tight cluster, apart from the others.
Tess’s brow furrowed. “It is as if they mimic where we are in the world. Almost as if they form a map.”
Tess found her mind drifting back to a time before she inhabited this world, to lessons she had studied. How to find her way across a landscape with the barest of tools. She could not pull the whole of the memory into focus, and yet she knew that it would help her resolve this mystery.
“If they are a map, there are no landmarks,” Sara said, looking at the floor. She pointed to the cluster of their three stones. “We know we are there, but where is that in relation to anywhere else?”
“We need to know where Ardred is,” Tess said. “That will give us an orientation, and perhaps even a scale.”
Cilla looked at her strangely. “You speak of things I do not know, sister.”
“And I hardly remember them myself,” Tess said. “It angers me that my own past must bear on our journey, and yet most of it lies behind a veil, unknown to me.”
“But not all,” Sara said. “You spoke of, what was it, orientation and scale. What are they?”
Tess closed her eyes for a moment, hoping that perhaps this past would emerge fully formed, and yet it remained clouded in impenetrable mist. Still, she had spoken the words, and she knew their meaning.
“A map must give us direction and distance,” she said. “If we know the orientation of a map, we know which way to walk to reach a destination. If we know the scale of a map, we know how many days it will take to get there.”
Tess pointed to the three stones that represented them and then to a looser cluster of four others. “If the stones are indeed a map, four of our sisters live near one another, there. But we don’t know what direction to walk in order to reach them, nor how far away they might be.”
“You said that if we knew where Ardred is, we could know this,” Cilla said, pointing to the beryl and quartz stones. “You think those two will be with him?”
“I would be surprised if they were not,” Tess said. “He relies on the power of the Ilduin. He must keep them near at hand, lest he find himself caught without them.”
“But surely he cannot control the whole of his forces with only two Ilduin,” Sara said.
“No,” Tess agreed. “He cannot. Glassidor’s hive was small by comparison to the Enemy’s. The Enemy would reach to his other Ilduin through the two he keeps at hand.”
The three women stared down at the scattered stones, trying to find some clue that would give them direction. Presently, Tess began to walk around them, viewing them from all directions, seeking any hint they might give her. Hoping the arrangement would speak to her on some level.
“All we need,” she said slowly, “is one other point of reference. If we knew where just one of these Ilduin was located, other than ourselves, the map would become clear.”
Cilla pointed. “These four that are near one another. Surely they must be in a large city? Bozandar, perhaps?”
Sara answered. “Mayhap. Or mayhap they have been drawn together by him whom we fight.”
“Aye, that concerns me,” said Tess slowly. “But they may also have come together as we have, finding one another by chance as they seek to fight the Evil One.”
“Even so,” Cilla said, “they must be from different bloodlines, as we are. Four such women, together in one place, speaks of a city where people gather from all over. Surely Bozandar is such a city.”
“I agree,” Tess said. “It is likely that they are in and around Bozandar. But we must assume that at least one of them is in the Enemy’s thrall. He could not master the Bozandari otherwise.”
“Aye,” Sara said. “And perhaps all four.”
Tess nodded. “We must proceed with caution, then. But has this not been our watchword since we began this journey?”
“I would never approach Bozandar otherwise,” Cilla said. “But I see no choice.”
Tess nodded, her face drawn. I see no choice. That had been her life for too long.
Chapter Seven
Tuzza was surprised, both at the progress that had been made in constructing his army’s camp and in the men who had risen to the forefront in the process. Some were experienced officers who had shown themselves willing to follow Tuzza’s lead in stepping in to share the manual labor, and in reaching out to the Anari for help. But some were men he would never have known by name, but for their exceptional performance in this exercise.
One such man stood before him now. Denza Grundan was a mere filemark, serving his second term of conscription. By all accounts, Grundan was a capable and brave soldier, well skilled and respected by the men of his file. He was also one-quarter Anari.
Given his heritage, and it was apparent from his deep, burnished brown features, his accomplishments shone even brighter.
Even Grundan’s rearmark had stepped out of the way over the last week, content to let Grundan organize the accommodations for not only his own file, but the entire company. What at first had seemed like sensible leadership had become something else when Tuzza had asked after the rearmark, and after some searching had found him drunk in his tent. That, combined with the rearmark’s reputation among his men and his fellow junior officers, had made Tuzza’s present decision an easy one. If Tuzza was to rebuild his command, this was an ideal way to begin.
Tuzza stood and spoke with a voice that would have rung through the company camp, even if the company had not been formed in ranks before him. “Filemark Denza Grundan, you have excelled in your duties, demonstrating not only strength of mind and will but also humility and attention to the needs of your men in the highest tradition of the Bozandari legions. Your character and commitment are above reproach. It is for this reason that I now appoint you a Rearmark, an officer in this legion from this time forward. Will you kneel and accept the oath of commissioning?”
“Aye, my lord,” Grundan said, kneeling and presenting his sword to Tuzza.
Had this ceremony occurred in other times, Tuzza would have asked Grundan to swear fealty to the emperor. In the present circumstances, Tuzza had rewritten the oath of commissioning.
“Do you swear by your life to serve these your men with your full measure of loyalty and honor, to obey all lawful commands of your seniors, to devote your whole mind and strength to your duties, and to respect and bear upon yourself the proud history and traditions of the Bozandari legionnaires and our Anari brethren?”
“Aye, my lord,” Grundan said, “upon my honor and my life itself, I swear myself thus.”
Tuzza smiled. “Then stand, Rearmark Grundan, and receive your company.”
Grundan stood and pivoted smartly, sheathing his sword and holding out his hands to receive the company’s battle standard. It was not the spotless pennant that had been carried out of Bozandar months ago. It was like Tuzza’s legion, tattered and soiled by the campaign, save for the radiant image of the white wolf, which had been stitched into the pennant by one of the men. Tuzza felt tears in his eyes. This company standard reflected the trials these men had borne, their defeat, and their hope of redemption under their new allegiance to the Weaver.
As Grundan grasped the staff that bore the standard and lifted it above his head, the men erupted in a cheer. In another time, in another legion, it would have been no more than a formality, a change-of-command ceremony, little noticed and less remembered. At this time, in this legion, it was so much more. It was the start of a new tradition, a beacon of hope to those with the talent and commitment to serve with honor, and a warning to those who thought their status guaranteed by patronage.
“For the Snow Wolf!” Grundan cried.
“For the Snow Wolf!” his men replied.
The word of Grundan’s appointment spread quickly, and in the days that followed, as Tuzza visited other units, he found that each had added a snow wolf—the prophesied companion of the Weaver—to its pennant.
“Your men speak of themselves as the Snow Wolves,” Jenah Gewindi said, walking beside Tuzza.
Jenah, alongside Ratha and Giri Monabi, had been one of Archer’s three chief lieutenants in the campaign against Tuzza’s men. Giri had fallen in the battle of the canyon, and his brother Ratha was still observing telzehten. This left Jenah as the only Anari commander on hand to forge a command coalition with the Bozandari, and at Archer’s order he had spent the past two days with Tuzza in the Bozandari camp, observing their training and the appointment of new officers as needed.
“Yes,” Tuzza said. “It began with the commissioning of one of your brethren. I have since been told that it was the decision of Rearmark Grundan and two of his fellow filemarks to add the Snow Wolf to their pennant. But it has served to rally my men, to give them a new sense of shared identity.”
Jenah nodded. “This is important, Topmark. Even now there is talk of doing the same among the Anari.”
“Your men would share the symbol of a Bozandari legion?” Tuzza asked, incredulous.
“Perhaps,” Jenah said. “Perhaps we both share a symbol of and allegiance to something greater than either of our peoples. It is this that I have suggested, when I have been asked for my view on the issue.”
“Very politic,” Tuzza said, smiling.
“An alliance cannot be formed without such,” Jenah said with a faint shrug. “My people are no more eager to fight beside yours than your men are to fight beside us. Yet necessity commands it, and it falls upon men like us to make it possible.”
“How many are you?” Tuzza asked. “We never knew, for certain, during the campaign past.”
“We were never more than five thousand under sword, and fewer still in the end,” Jenah said.
“Between us we are barely a legion strong,” Tuzza said, his brow furrowed.
“Perhaps,” Jenah said. “But even if we were thrice thus, we could not count on weight of numbers in the march to Bozandar. And in our very weakness may lay strength.”
“How so?” Tuzza asked.
Jenah smiled. “Consider how your emperor would respond if three legions marched out of Anahar.”
“That would seem nothing less than an invasion,” Tuzza said, nodding. “They would see no option but battle.”
“Precisely,” Jenah said. “But an understrength legion, composed of Bozandari and Anari marching side by side. That can seem like a peace envoy.”
“Let us hope,” Tuzza said. “My men have no desire to slay their brethren. However committed they may be to the Weaver, to lift swords against men they have known and fought beside before would be very difficult.”
“Aye,” Jenah said. “Thus it would be for Anari also. No, our strength will lie not in numbers, but in the gifts of our Ilduin, and perhaps your own gifted tongue.”
Tuzza looked at Jenah. “If our future rests upon my gift for clever speech, I fear we are all in graver danger than I knew.”
“It will come to all of us to give what we can,” Jenah said. “Whether that will be enough rests on shoulders larger than our own.”
Tess sat beside an icy stream, her feet bare and pink in the cold. The need to escape to quiet and privacy had driven her into the mountains by herself. She could still see Anahar’s beauty below, so she was in no danger of becoming lost. But the hike had made her feet tender, since it appeared her new boots were better made for riding than walking. She had soaked them in the stream until she could bear the frigid water no more.
As she turned her ankle to one side, she noted again the tattoo of the white rose, still as fresh-looking as if it had been done within the past year or two. How did she know that about tattoos?
For a moment, she closed her eyes, reaching for the information, but as always when she sought her past, it was as if the doors closed even more impenetrably. A small sigh escaped her, and she shivered a bit as the icy breeze caressed her feet. She should put her boots on again, before her bare feet sucked out all the warmth that her woolen cloak preserved.
But instead she looked again at the tattoo, knowing in some unreachable part of herself that it was more than a pretty decoration. It said something about her past, about who she was. Perhaps it even said something about her destiny.
Gingerly she poked a hand out from the shelter of her cloak and touched it. Within, she felt no reaction to it at all. At this moment, it was nothing but a pretty little bit of folly.
But it was her only true link with her past, that and the memory of holding her dying mother in her arms, a memory that Elanor had returned to her. An unhappy, unwanted, inexplicable memory. It told her almost nothing, and she had a crying need to know something.
If she was a pawn of the gods, and it appeared she was, then why must she take every action in blindness? Why was she permitted to know little of any real use?
Her own powers, powers that had been steadily revealing themselves, terrified her. If she was capable of so much, ’twould be better for everyone if she knew how to control this wild talent. Instead she discovered her abilities in moments of dire need, and so far as she could tell, other than healing, she had little say in what she did.
She lifted her fingers from the tattoo and studied it for another few seconds, then sighed and pulled her white leather boots on again.
For some reason, nearly every piece of serviceable clothing she owned, from the very first clothes given to her by Sara so long ago at the Whitewater Inn, was white. When she had asked the bootmaker to make her a fresh pair, he had made them white. She was quite certain she had not asked for that. The same had happened with every other item that she requested.
A little smile curled one corner of her mouth. Only her gown for the wedding had been a different color, and now that the wedding was past, she had no excuse to wear it. It was as if some silent conspiracy existed, insisting she wear only the color of the white wolves, the White Lady, the Weaver.
Shod once again, her feet numbed enough that she did not feel the mild irritation of her new boots, she resumed her hike, now heading toward Anahar. The quiet and solitude had allowed her to relax, a luxury she rarely knew. For a little while she had stopped worrying at the temple for more information, she had escaped councils of war, and the cacophony of voices that accompanied the crowding of the city of Anahar by Anari summoned from far and wide to battle.
A snatch of music danced across her mind, and she recalled the day that Anahar had sung. The rainbow-hued city had gleamed from within its every stone as the music had emerged from them, sending out a call to every Anari, a call that could be heard nearby with the ears, but elsewhere with the heart, according to the Anari.
And the Anari had come from far and wide, dropping every task to answer the summons. They had become the army that had defeated Tuzza’s legion.
Now Tess wondered if Anahar would sing again, for it seemed they were about to march again, this time toward Bozandar.
The chill that passed through her then had nothing to do with the weather. She could not imagine that the remains of the Anari army, even allied with the remnants of Tuzza’s legion, could withstand the might of Bozandar, be it only one fresh legion strong.
Yet march they must, for more than their own lives hung in the balance. It was a somber, sober burden, one which weighed more heavily with each step toward the city.
Again the snatch of music danced across her mind, as if trying to tell her something, but before she could reach for its meaning, it was gone again.
Perhaps Anahar was calling her, telling her it was time. Even as the thought crossed her mind, she realized this was not Anahar calling her. No, this was something else, something far darker than Anahar could ever be, even in the silence of the blackest night.
Yes, Tess. You will come. But not for their sake. You will come for me!
Tess slammed down the walls within her mind, even as she began to run toward the city. Blisters bedamned. She knew she had not the strength to withstand this attack alone. She needed her sisters.
She needed them now.
Archer had been looking for Tess, to confer with her about the army’s departure. She was, whether she knew it or not, the only true unifying point for the two groups who would march toward Bozandar. Not even his own birthright, Firstborn Son to Firstborn King, would unify in the way the Lady Tess’s mere presence seemed to.
Nor did he begrudge her that, though he still wondered about her origins. For his part, he had no desire to be the rallying point for what was to come. He would simply do his duty and use his expertise as needed. Having once heard his name used as a rallying cry, and having seen what followed, he never wanted to hear it that way again.
’Twas then that he spied Tess hurrying out of the wood at the far end of town. The way she was racing and stumbling concerned him, and he spurred his mount toward her, his heart suddenly hammering.
When he reached her, he saw terror on her face. He slipped at once from his saddle and reached for her, swinging his cloak around her to cover her even as he assumed a protective stance, hand on his sword hilt.
“Are you pursued?” he demanded roughly. “Has someone hurt you?”
