In her arms, Lenare still held her father’s legendary sword. The count had handed it to her, begging that she deliver it safely to her brother Mauvin. Then he had kissed each member of his family before returning to the line where Alenda’s own father and brothers waited with the rest of the army. Since then, Lenare had never set the burden down. She had wrapped it in a dark wool blanket and bound it with a silk ribbon. Throughout the harrowing escape, she had hugged the long bundle to her breast, at times using it to wipe away tears.
“If we push hard today, we might make Colnora by sunset,” Lord Valin told them. “Assuming the weather improves.” The old knight glared up at the sky as if it alone were their adversary.
“Lord Julian,” Belinda said. “The relics… the scepter and seal—”
“They are all safe, my lady,” the ancient chamberlain replied. “Loaded in the wagons. The kingdom is intact, save for the land itself.” The old man looked back in the direction of the strange sound, toward the banks of the Galewyr River and the bridge they had crossed the night before.
“Will they help us in Colnora?” Belinda asked. “We haven’t much food.”
“If news has reached them of King Alric’s part in freeing the empress, they should be willing,” Lord Valin said. “Even if it has not, Colnora is a merchant city, and merchants thrive on profit, not chivalry.”
“I have some jewelry,” Belinda informed him. “If needs be, you can sell what I have for…” The countess paused as she noticed Julian still staring back at the bridge.
Others soon lifted their gazes, and finally Alenda looked up to see the approach of a rider.
“Is it…?” Lenare began.
“It’s a child,” Belinda said.
Alenda quickly realized she was right. A little girl raced at them, clutching to the back of the sweat-soaked horse. Her hood had blown back, revealing long dark hair and rosy cheeks. She was about six years old, and just as she clutched the horse, a raccoon held fast to her. They were an odd pair to be alone on the road, but Alenda reminded herself that “normal” no longer existed. If she should see a bear in a feather cap riding a chicken, that too might be normal now.
The horse entered the camp and Lord Valin grabbed the bit, forcing the animal and rider to a stop.
“Are you all right, honey?” Belinda asked.
“There’s blood on the saddle,” Lord Valin noted.
“Are you hurt?” the countess asked the child. “Where are your parents?”
The girl shivered and blinked but said nothing. Her little fists still clutched the horse’s reins.
“She’s cold as ice,” Belinda said, touching the child’s cheek. “Help me get her down.”
“What’s your name?” Alenda asked.
The girl remained mute. Deprived of her horse, she turned to hugging the raccoon.
“Another rider,” Lord Valin announced.
Alenda looked up to see a man crossing the bridge and wheeling toward them.
The rider charged into the camp and threw back his hood, revealing long black hair, pale skin, and intense eyes. He bore a narrow mustache and a short beard trimmed to a fine point. He glared at them until he spotted the girl.
“There!” he said, pointing. “Give her to me at once.”
The child cried out in fear, shaking her head.
“No!” Belinda shouted, and pressed the girl into Alenda’s hands.
“My lady,” Lord Valin said. “If the child is his—”
“This child does not belong to him,” the countess declared, her tone hateful.
“I am a Sentinel of Nyphron,” the man shouted so all could hear. “This child is claimed for the church. You will hand her over now. Any who oppose me will die.”
“I know very well who you are, Luis Guy,” Belinda said, seething. “I will not provide you with any more children to murder.”
The sentinel peered at her. “Countess Pickering?” He studied the camp with renewed interest. “Where is your husband? Where is your fugitive son?”
“I am no fugitive,” Denek said as he came forward. Belinda’s youngest had recently turned thirteen and was growing tall and lanky. He was well on his way to imitating his older brothers.
“He means Mauvin,” Belinda explained. “This is the man who murdered Fanen.”
“Again I ask you,” Guy pressed. “Where is your husband?”
“He is dead and Mauvin is well beyond your reach.”
The sentinel looked out over the crowd and then down at Lord Valin. “And he has left you poor protection. Now, hand over the child.”
“I will not,” Belinda said.
Guy dismounted and stepped forward to face Lord Valin. “Hand over the child or I will be forced to take her.”
The old knight looked to Belinda, whose face remained hateful. “My lady does not wish it, and I shall defend her decision.” The old man drew his sword. “You will leave now.”
Alenda jumped at the sound of steel as Guy drew his own sword and lunged. In less than an instant, Lord Valin was clutching his bleeding side, his sword arm wavering. With a shake of his head, the sentinel slapped the old man’s blade away and stabbed him through the neck.
Guy advanced toward the girl with a terrifying fire in his eyes. Before he could cross the distance, Belinda stepped between them.
“I do not make a habit of killing women,” Guy told her. “But nothing will keep me from this prize.”
“What do you want her for?”
“As you said, to kill her. I will take the child to the Patriarch and then she must die, by my hands.”
“Never.”
“You cannot stop me. Look around. You have only women and children. You have no one to fight for you. Give me the child!”
“Mother?” Lenare said softly. “He is right. There is no one else. Please.”
“Mother, let me,” Denek pleaded.
“No. You are still too young. Your sister is right. There is no one else.” The countess nodded toward her daughter.
“I am pleased to see someone who—” Guy stopped as Lenare stepped forward. She slipped off her cloak and untied the bundle, revealing the sword of her father, which she drew forth and held before her. The blade caught the hazy winter light, pulling it in and casting it back in a sharp brilliance.
Puzzled, Guy looked at her for a moment. “What is this?”
“You killed my brother,” Lenare said.
Guy looked to Belinda. “You’re not serious.”
“Just this once, Lenare,” Belinda told her daughter.
“You would have your daughter die for this child? If I must kill all your children, I will.”
Alenda watched, terrified, as everyone backed away, leaving a circle around Sentinel Guy and Lenare. A ripping wind shuddered the canvas of the tents and threw Lenare’s golden hair back. Standing alone in the snow, dressed in her white traveling clothes and holding the rapier, she appeared as a mythical creature, a fairy queen or goddess—beautiful in her elegance.
With a scowl, Luis Guy lunged, and with surprising speed and grace, Lenare slapped the attack away. Her father’s sword sang with the contact.
“You’ve handled a blade before,” Guy said, surprised.
“I am a Pickering.”
He swung at her. She blocked. He swiped. She parried. Then Lenare slashed and cut Guy across the cheek.
“Lenare,” her mother said with a stern tone. “Don’t play games.”
Guy paused, holding a hand to his bleeding face.
“He killed Fanen, Mother,” Lenare said coldly. “He should be made to suffer. He should be made an example.”