Shadows of Prophecy - Rachel Lee

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looked down at her hand, at the healing scar there. Those were memories best left in the dark recesses of the mind until they were needed.

      Nearer to her sat her friend Sara Deepwell, an innkeeper’s daughter who was proving to be one of the legendary magical women known as Ilduin. As was Tess herself, though she still rebelled emotionally at the idea.

      Sara slept rarely now. Her mind and heart were too burdened with grief.

      With a sigh, Tess stirred the coals of the fire, watching pinpricks of burning ash rise to the darkened sky. They were headed to war, yet she doubted that either she or Sara was ready for such a thing. Horror behind them, horror ahead of them.

      Suddenly Tom sat up, instantly awake and alert. “Something is happening,” he whispered.

      But around them the desert remained silent.

      “Annomendi.”

      Announce yourself, spoken in the clipped, northern Anari dialect. Giri, still frozen, replied carefully with the formal address of greeting.

      “Giri an Monabi-Tel, ahnorren tir al sarlohse il Anari gelehsahnen.” Giri of the Monabi Clan, returning of free will to the service of the Anari.

      “What have you seen?” the man demanded, prodding Giri with the sword.

      “Of you and your companions, I have seen nothing,” Giri replied. “Of these men below, I have seen much—and much to despise.”

      “How many are you?”

      “My brother is across the valley, and my friends await us behind the bend of the road. We are returning to help, to fight for our freedom.”

      The man let out a satisfied grunt. “Well, a fight there will be. And if you and your friends are true to your words, it shall begin for you tonight.”

      Giri spread his fingers in the Anari gesture of peace. “May I roll over and know into whose service I have come?”

      The sword moved away, and Giri slowly rolled onto his side, looking up into midnight-black eyes. The man was definitely northern Anari, his features slightly rounded, his skin that fraction of a degree paler.

      “Jenah of the Gewindi Clan,” the man said. “Now rise and lead me to these friends of yours. One ambush would be more than sufficient for this night.”

      Jenah extended a hand, and Giri grasped it, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. With a low whistle, Jenah signaled whatever companions might be nearby, then walked at Giri’s side as they made their way back along the road. Within minutes, Giri heard Ratha’s almost silent hiss, echoed a moment later by Archer.

      “Be in peace,” Giri said, keeping his voice low. “I come with Jenah of the Gewindi Clan.”

      Archer and Ratha rose from behind rocks, seeming to materialize only an arm’s length away. Archer’s eyes were hard and cold. “By what right do you capture my companion and friend?”

      “By the right of a warrior who dislikes surprises in the night,” Jenah said. Even in this dim light, Giri could see Jenah’s face harden as he looked at Archer and took in his much lighter skin. “And any companion and friend of your kind is hateful to mine.”

      Giri didn’t know whether Archer would detect the deadly threat in Jenah’s choice of words. He spoke quickly. “I am grateful that you slew me not, Jenah Gewindi. Now slay not my friends, for you know naught of them, naught of their motives, and I dare say naught of greater forces that placed us in this chance encounter tonight.”

      Before Jenah could respond, Giri drew his sword and held it by the blade, with an infinitesimal dip of his head. “On pain of Keh-Bal, I place myself and my friends in your service.”

      “On pain of Keh-Bal shall you serve,” Jenah replied, taking the sword by the hilt and turning it around before offering it back to Giri. “Come quickly now. There is dark work to be done.”

      “I must first let the rest of my company know where we are going,” Archer said. “By Giri’s oath, I will return.”

      “Can he be trusted?” Jenah asked.

      “With more than your life,” Giri replied. His tone left no room for doubt or argument.

      Tom Downey peered into the darkness, trying to make out a shape to go with the approaching sound, a sound that was too deliberately noisy to seem like a threat. “Who goes there?”

      “’Tis only me,” Archer said, appearing out of the night. “We are discovered.”

      Behind Tom, Sara Deepwell and Tess Birdsong stiffened.

      “Is there trouble?” Sara asked.

      “Aye, there will be soon,” Archer said. “Giri was met by another Anari, who apparently intends to ambush the Bozandari patrol we’ve been shadowing. He has pledged us to the fight, as well.”

      Tess looked up with almost hollow eyes. “We knew there would be more fighting. But so soon?”

      Archer shook his head. “Milady, I cannot choose the time and manner of the Anari rebellion. Giri and Ratha are committed to its cause, and a noble cause it is. We have already sworn to help them. Apparently that begins tonight.”

      “We follow you, Archer Blackcloak,” Sara said, drawing her sword. “Where you lead, we will go.”

      Archer’s long black cloak was tossed on the night wind, a fold blowing back over his shoulder to reveal the gleaming hilt of his long sword. For an instant, just an instant, Tess thought she saw a shimmer about him, the ghost of a younger, happier man. Then the shimmer vanished and he was once again the hardened warrior.

      “The three of you must stay here,” he said flatly. “The horses must be protected, and I need you, Sara and Tom, to guard the Lady Tess. I sense her part in matters to come will be of extreme importance. Regardless, we cannot risk two Ilduin needlessly.”

      Both Sara and Tom seemed about to voice a protest, but then nodded. “Very well,” Sara said, sheathing her sword once more. “Mayhap we can do more as healers this night.”

      “Of that,” Archer said, “I have no doubt. But should we three fall, you three must return to Whitewater.”

      Tess abruptly rose to her feet. “Don’t fail,” she ordered.

      A low chuckle escaped Archer, and he bowed. “I shall do my very best, Lady.”

      Then, this time moving with silent stealth, he disappeared back into the shadows among the rocks, lost to view.

      Tom looked at Sara and Tess. “I think we should follow him.”

      But before anyone could respond, the shadows moved again, and they found themselves looking at the drawn swords of five dark-skinned Anari. They were surrounded.

      “You will stay here,” one of them announced, “until your companions have proved themselves to be true.”

      Tess sighed and dropped back down beside the small fire. “They’re true enough,” she muttered. “Truer than this night is cold.”

      Tom squatted beside her, as did Sara, holding their hands out to the warmth.

      “Truer,” Tom answered beneath his breath, “than one among our captors, I fear.”

      Sara nodded. Tess remained motionless, feeling the tingle and burning begin in the palms of her hand. Something built within her, and for the first time she had an inkling of what it was. Slipping her hand within her cloak, she grasped at the bag of twelve colored stones nestled between her breasts.

      “Aye,” she said presently. “Evil is near.”

      Archer, Giri and Ratha climbed the ridge alongside the northern Anari. Soon they reached its ragged, bare top and peered over once again at the column of soldiers marching so arrogantly down the darkened road.

      Jenah

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