Age of Myth (The Legends of the First Empire #1)

“If it wasn’t for the good of the dahl, do you think I would be going?” Sarah asked her. “This is dangerous. We have no idea what they might do.” Sarah was trembling, and Delwin gave his wife a long, tight hug.

Persephone, Moya, and Sarah led the column across the byway on the far side of the lodge. They passed the newly turned black soil of the Killians’ garden, where green beans were already sprouting. Then they moved past a pile of green wood Viv and Bruce Baker’s boys had stacked. As they neared the lodge and the well, Persephone saw Raithe and Malcolm not far from Sarah’s roundhouse, watching the procession.

The Fhrey watched as well.

There were only three in their camp near the well, and Persephone was disappointed that neither Nyphron nor Grygor was among them. She had talked to those two before and wasn’t sure if any of the others knew Rhunic. Persephone spoke Fhrey, but she wasn’t confident in her ability. Knowing their language was a requirement of all chieftains because the Fhrey held meetings to review treaties and discuss grievances. Reglan had learned it from his father, and she learned the vernacular when Reglan had taught their son. Konniger didn’t realize it yet, but he was going to have to learn the language from her.

Thankfully, the goblin wasn’t there. The assortment of Galantians who ventured into the Crescent Forest each day was different, but each party always included him.

Aside from their daily outings, the Fhrey stayed mostly in their camp: stitching clothes, sharpening blades, polishing armor, and speaking quietly among themselves. That morning the tall one who carried the spear, a gigantic pole with a fearsome blade, sat rubbing it with a cloth. Next to him was the quiet one, who braided his hair and had a fascination with tying knots in lengths of rope or in the frayed threads of his clothes. The last was the one called Tekchin.

Persephone had heard his name from several of the others, usually when they told him to be quiet. Tekchin was a scary-looking Fhrey with short-cut hair, intense eyes, a scar cut along the side of his face, and a sneer that seemed just as permanent. The scar was easy to see as none of the Fhrey had beards. Persephone had previously thought Fhrey were like women in that respect, but since their arrival, she’d seen them scraping their faces with blades.

As the line of women approached the well, Tekchin stood up and moved to the edge of their path. Sarah faltered at his approach, and Persephone grabbed her hand, squeezing tightly to keep her walking. The Fhrey folded his arms and glared as they neared. So merciless was his gaze that the whole line slowed. Sarah tugged backward, and even Persephone had trouble keeping her feet moving forward.

From behind her, Moya shouted, “What are you looking at?”

Moya!

Persephone thought her heart might have stopped at that moment. Her feet certainly would have if they weren’t in a procession, and it was hard to stop twenty people moving as one.

“I’m looking at you,” the Fhrey growled back in Rhunic, and moved toward her.

The line did halt then, jostling to a standstill. This time it was Sarah who squeezed Persephone’s hand, and she did so with enough force that it hurt. Persephone guessed the only reason the women hadn’t scattered was that they were too scared to move.

Then Moya did the unthinkable. She stepped out of line and closed the distance between herself and the sneering Galantian. She walked so forcefully that the empty gourds dangling from the pole over her shoulders bounced together making hollow clunks.

“Well, this ain’t a show, you know?” Moya said with the same saucy disdain she’d used when Heath Coswall asked her to dance last Wintertide. “We need water. So why don’t you help us out and put your eyes back in your head.”

No one breathed for a moment as the two faced off; then all three Fhrey began laughing. Tekchin nodded and held out his hand. Moya looked confused. She obviously had meant for the Fhrey to help by getting out of their way, but he’d taken her words of assistance literally. When she didn’t react, he reached out and lifted the pole off her shoulders. Moya stood still, as if a bee were buzzing around her. Tekchin took her gourds to the well, where he began pulling water.

The women just stared.

“Get over here and give me a hand,” Tekchin demanded of the others in the Fhrey language.

The one with the spear set his weapon down and began working the rope, tying it around a gourd and lowering it. The Fhrey with the braided hair approached Persephone and took both her and Sarah’s sets of jugs. He brought them over to the well, and Tekchin filled each.

“What’s your name?” Tekchin asked Moya.

“Who wants to know?”

Don’t push it! For all that’s sacred, don’t push it! Persephone thought. She was ready to kill Moya yet wanted to kiss her at the same time.

“I’m Tekchin,” he said, exchanging an empty gourd for a full one. “The handsomest and most skilled of the Galantians.”

This brought an immediate and loud moan from the other Fhrey.

“That scar suggests otherwise,” Moya replied. “On both counts.”

More laughter, louder this time.

“Pretty and smart,” Tekchin said to the others in Fhrey.

Persephone was thankful Moya couldn’t understand their language. A comment like that would have been tantamount to putting torch to tinder.

“This?” Tekchin returned to Rhunic and touched his cheek. “Naw, this is a beauty mark given to me by a special friend. He’s dead now, of course, but he was a gifted opponent and aiming for my throat. I can assure you it proves my skill. So what’s your name, or shall I call you Doe-Eyes?”

“Doe-Eyes? Seriously?” Moya rolled her same-said eyes in disbelief. “I would have expected something less sappy from a god. My name is Moya. Call me anything else and you’ll receive a second beauty mark.”

Tekchin struggled but failed to resist smiling. Behind him, the rest of the Fhrey laughed once more.

“God, eh?” Tekchin said.

“Don’t get too excited. Apparently it’s only a rumor.”

“I like you, Moya.”

“Most people do,” she replied. Seeing that her water containers were filled, Moya lifted the pole, laid it across her shoulders, and walked away.

—

The raid on the well had been a huge success, and Persephone received praise for coming up with the idea, despite Moya being the true hero of the hour. With stores of fresh water once more at hand, meals were made, animals watered, and songs sung. Not everyone was pleased. Konniger and Tressa were reportedly livid. Later that afternoon the new chieftain summoned Persephone to the lodge, a demand she chose to ignore. When Maeve was sent to ask why she had failed to appear, Moya answered for Persephone. “Tell Konniger she’s taking a bath.”

This unleashed uncontrolled laughter in Roan’s roundhouse, drawing a huff of indignation from Maeve before she left. No one knew whether Maeve actually delivered the message because a few minutes later the dahl’s horn blew again, three long wails. The singing and laughter stopped.

“Fhrey!” Cobb shouted once again.

The gate stood open, as it did most days from dawn till dusk, and Cobb looked to Persephone for direction. She turned to Nyphron, who along with the rest of the Galantians had returned from their hike in the forest.

No one sought Konniger.

The Galantians said nothing. They merely gathered their weapons, slung shields, and marched out the gate. Not all of them went. The goblin stayed behind.

Persephone climbed the ladder to stand on top of the wall. She leaned out on the logs and looked down as the two groups converged just below. This new troop was remarkably similar to the Galantians. They wore brilliant golden breastplates, studded war skirts, plumed helms, and long blue capes. Despite the uniformity, Nyphron stood out. He was taller than the others, had no helm, and his golden hair blew in the breeze. But it was more than that. The swagger of his walk, and the way he folded his arms and stood waiting for the others to approach, made him greater than the rest—a god among gods.

“What’s going to happen?” Cobb asked her. “Are they going to fight?”

“I don’t know.”

“Similar in numbers. What if they do? Do we help?”