“She’d have to be trained first,” Alaric said into the long silence. “Where’s the shaman?”
“He hasn’t been seen in months,” answered a voice from the crowd.
“Is he dead?” another voice asked.
“Who would be daft enough kill a shaman and risk being haunted forever?” the wiry woman said derisively. “He’s probably out on the Ocean of Grass, smoking funny herbs and doing one of those vision quests.”
“Find him,” Alaric ordered. Two of Alaric’s specially painted braves nodded in obedience and left the group.
Distant yips and cries from the perimeter guards reached the group at the fire. Lily felt Rowan grab her by the arm as his eyes flew to the treetops, his knife glinting in his other hand. Her heart flew to her throat, and she scanned the trees, like Rowan, for Woven. The call “Citadel guards!” was heard and Rowan’s eyes dropped back down to the ground.
“Take Lily,” Alaric ordered. “Hide in the woods for five, six days if you can. We’ll try to get word to you before a week is past.” Alaric’s painted warriors flocked to his side, forming a circle around him. Caleb was among them, but Lily didn’t see Tristan anywhere. “If we don’t make contact in a week, try to smuggle her back into the city when things have died down,” he said hurriedly to Rowan. One of Alaric’s guards handed Rowan a pack. He opened it quickly and scanned the contents. Lily heard the whiz of arrows. “Run, Rowan!” Alaric shouted. “And keep her alive.”
Rowan nodded once and pulled Lily along beside him. His face was drawn and intense, his eyes skipping through the trees as he looked for the best route. Lily could hear the pounding of horses’ hooves, shouts, and screams. Rowan dragged her into a run, leading her away from the sounds of chaos.
“What do they want?”
“To capture as many of us as they can,” Rowan answered, his eyes still darting this way and that. “You can’t be seen. Here,” he rasped, and pulled Lily down behind the trunk of a large tree.
He pushed her between the thick roots and into a shadowy hollow that was barely large enough to conceal her, and covered the opening with his body. She saw his willstone flare, and his face relax in meditation. The dark wearhyde jacket and backpack that he wore seemed to blend with the shadows cast by the tall tree. He didn’t disappear, but he was so well camouflaged that he was nearly impossible to see.
Horses thundered past, carrying men heavily armed with crossbows, blades, and what she thought was a kind of gun. The men wore the same uniforms Lily had seen on the guards of the Citadel. She looked at Rowan’s calm face. His eyes were closed, his breathing regular. At any moment, she expected to hear the thwap of an arrow as it sank into his back, but the horses rode right past. Rowan opened his eyes and met Lily’s, the focus of his gaze swallowing all of her thoughts. She heard herself breathe, in and out, and didn’t dare move any more than that.
Rowan’s head flicked to the side, an ear cocked to listen behind him. Lily looked over his shoulder and saw a group of elderly men and women hurry past their hiding spot. They began to shout to each other. They tried to run, but they were too old to do more than shuffle through the leaf litter with frantic hopelessness. The mounted soldiers ran them down easily, trampling the unlucky ones. Lily heard the cries of pain and she tensed, her body straining to go to their aid. Rowan put his hands on her shoulders to stop her.
“No,” he whispered, his eyes pleading with her. “You can’t help them now.”
A young man rode forward, taking command. He jumped off his mount and stood over an old man who had been knocked down and couldn’t get back up to his feet. The young man was well-dressed and had pale skin and white-blond hair. He looked like an overgrown choirboy.