“What?” he managed dumbly.

  “No. This cannot be.” Matka scrambled to her pack and pulled a contraption out of a case. It was a cylinder that lengthened when she pulled on it. She peered through it and her grip tightened. “The village has been attacked.”

  “What?” Otec couldn’t seem to get his mind to work properly. It was like a gear that kept missing the cog.

  Fists clenched at her sides, Matka stared up at the sky. “So many betrayals.” She turned back to him. Gone was the vulnerable girl. This woman wore the face of a warrior, and he realized he did not know her at all. “Otec, your village has been attacked by Idarans.”

  “Raiders,” he gasped. But it couldn’t be Raiders—they couldn’t have made it this far inland.

  “Yes, Raiders,” Matka responded, anger building in her voice.

  His breathing came fast and shallow. “How could you know that?”

  “I saw it in the telescope.”

  He snatched the telescope from her grip. “No! It’s probably just a barn that’s caught a couple of houses on fire.” Even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t true.

  He peered through the telescope. Everything appeared closer. It took him a minute to find his village, but when he did, his breath caught. Buildings were burning. His villagers were running. Screaming. Dying. But by the Balance, some were fighting, too.

  “Hurry, Otec. We must go for help,” Matka said from where she knelt, packing her bedroll. His brain finally woke up. He realized all the men in the village—the protectors—were gone. His brothers and sisters were alone down there. And his mother. And his aunts and uncles and cousins. And his friends.

  He rushed to his pack and shoved everything inside. “You’re going to have to keep up. I can’t slow down for you.”

  “How far to the nearest village?”

  Otec ignored her question. “If we hurry, we can reach Shyleholm by midday.”

  He swung his bedroll over his shoulder, took his bow in his free hand, and started off at a jog. Matka was right behind him. “Shyleholm . . . Otec, you can’t go there. It’s already lost. You have to reach the next village and rouse your clanmen.”

  He didn’t bother to slow. “My family isn’t in Argonholm.”

  She snatched his arm. “If you go down there, you’ll die with them.”

  He whirled, jerking his arm free, and barely stopped himself from shoving her. “They are not dead,” he said, his voice hard. “Don’t you dare say they are dead.”

  “No, I didn’t—”

  He turned and broke into a full-on run, not caring if she kept up or not. He didn’t stop until he reached the cliff.

  Matka came panting up as he secured the rope around a tree. “Listen to me, Otec. If you want to help your family, you need allies. You can’t just go barreling into the midst of the Idaran army. The Raiders take slaves. You’ll need help to free them.”

  She had a point. “After I’m down, pull the rope up and come down yourself,” he said. “You go on to Argonholm. Tell them what you saw.” He tied the rope around his chest and started down.

  “I don’t know the way,” Matka yelled from above him.

  “Head southwest!” he shouted back at her.

  “Even if I don’t get lost, it will take me twice as long without a guide,” she called once he’d reached the bottom and was busily untying the rope from his chest. “Otec, going for help is the best chance you’ll have at saving them!”

  He paused, actually letting her words sink in. And he knew she was right. He was too late to stop what was happening—by now, it was already over. He thought of Holla, her hands on his face. His mother, watching him leave. The weight of his two brothers as they wrapped around his legs. The rest of his sisters. Storm, pregnant. By the Balance, they could already be dead.

  When Matka stepped down beside him, he was crouched low, the heels of his hands pressed into his eyes in a useless attempt to block out the images of his family running and screaming for their lives. He couldn’t help them. Couldn’t do one thing to stop it.

  Matka rested a firm hand on his shoulder. “Otec?” But he could barely breathe from the horror rolling through him. “Otec, where do you want to go?” He looked up sharply, prepared to snap at her for throwing his words back in his face, but her expression wasn’t cruel. Just determined.

  “I know tactics, Otec. I will help you save your family, though it will cost me everything. But you have to trust me—just long enough for me to get you to Argonholm.”

  He didn’t understand, and he wasn’t going to take the time to figure her cryptic words out.

  “What’s the fastest way to Argonholm?” She pointed at the glacier-topped peaks far above him. “Can we go over the mountain?”

  He rose to his feet, ignoring the cramps in his calves. “No one has ever made it all the way over before.”

  “We have to get to Argonholm, convince them the Raiders will be coming there next. Then send for your father at the coast.”

  Otec’s father. Yes, his father would know what to do—how to save the clan. And just like that, Otec had a purpose. He glanced around, getting his bearings. “This way.”

  He trotted downhill. Matka kept up without complaint as the morning sun melted the frost and took the sharp bite from the air. Going down was faster than up, but it wore on his legs until they trembled with every step. Matka tried to get him to stop and drink—even take a mouthful of food. But he ignored her, pressing down the mountain until his legs gave out on him. He tried to stand again, but he shook so badly he couldn’t.

  Matka shoved him down onto his backside. “You’re desert sick.” She held out the water skin. “Small sips.”

  “Desert sick?” Otec panted as he took a drink.

  She plopped down beside him. “Your body is shutting down because it’s overheated and thirsty.” She pulled off her boots and dumped out a few rocks. He noticed her socks were bloody. “Trust me, I know a few things about running in the heat,” she said.

  “But there aren’t any deserts in Svassheim,” Otec pointed out.

  She grabbed his water skin and took a long drink. “How do you know? You’ve never been there.”

  “I’ve seen maps. Talked to sailors at the spring clan feast.” He shrugged, this wasn’t important. Not now. He pushed himself up and tested his balance. He could stand, but he still felt wobbly.

  “We have to go slower,” Matka said.

  “Why is it you aren’t collapsing?”

  “I’m used to running. And I’ve been drinking and eating a bit.”

  After that, Matka made sure he drank water, and they kept to a walk or an easy jog. Finally, they neared the canyon floor. The Argon and Shyle clans were about a day’s journey in either direction. The road was deserted and quiet. Otec could hear nothing over the running river.

  “We need to keep out of sight,” Matka whispered.

  “How did they get so far inland without anyone seeing them?” he asked, his gaze straying in the direction of his village.

  Matka shook her head. “I don’t know.” She slipped along the base of the mountain.

  Taking his bow in hand, Otec grudgingly followed her. “The road is faster.”

  “Yes. But the first thing the army would do is block escape points and post enough men to prevent a counterattack.”

  “How do you know so much?”

  It took her a moment to answer. “At the school I attended, I showed a proclivity toward herbs and healing, so that was my focus. But all of us learned the arts of war.”

  She froze suddenly and lowered to a crouch, gesturing for him to do the same. He followed her gaze up into the trees to find a white owl with black striations. It was the exact same owl from before. Otec was sure of it, if for no other reason than the way it stared at Matka. “But I buried it. I put a huge rock on the grave.”

  Matka clenched her fists, fury and hatred rolling from her in waves. Finally, she glared at the bird. Otec had a feeling she had never acknowledged the creature before now. After a moment of what looked like intense listening, she eased back toward him and whispered, “There are Idarans about a quarter league ahead of us.”

  Forcing himself to look away from the owl, he strained his senses but heard and saw nothing. “How do you know?” he whispered back just as quietly.

  She ignored his question. “It will be nightfall soon. Better for us to rest now, eat something, and try to slip past them in the coming dark.”

  Otec scrubbed his hands over his face, wishing his brothers were here. They’d know what to do. “The two of us could handle a couple of sentinels.”

  “There are more than that—I’d guess a hundred Idarans.”

  He ground his teeth. “I’ll not rest while the Raiders have my family.”

  When he made to move around Matka, she grabbed his arm. “Otec, you have to trust me.”

  He whipped around to face her. “Why? I barely know you.”

  “I’m trying to help you.”

  He looked back down the trail, trying to see what she had seen. But then he glanced up at the owl, which stared at him this time.

  Otec shuddered and followed Matka. They settled down beneath the huge limbs of a pine tree and shared a small meal of travel bread, dried fruit, and meat. She lay down, her eyes closed, but he could tell by her irregular breathing that she wasn’t asleep.

  He didn’t sleep either, unable to stop worrying about his family, imagining various torments while he hid safely beneath a tree.

  When it was almost dark, Matka suddenly sat up. With the moon nearly full, he could make out the determination and dread on her face. “Time to go.”

  As they crossed the ridge of the mountain face, Otec finally saw the men in the trees. Trying to skirt them, he and Matka climbed the mountain again. She was leading the way when she suddenly crouched and motioned for him to do the same. After a moment of listening intently to something he couldn’t hear, she silently urged him to go back the way they’d come.

  He clenched his jaw but obeyed, and she followed. After a hundred paces, she touched his shoulder. He paused and she came up beside him, leaning in to whisper in his ear. “The Idarans have posted sentinels all the way up to where the cliffs start. We’re going to have to backtrack and find another way over.”

  It took everything in Otec not to scream in frustration. “By then, it will be too late to help anyone. And the Raiders will have infiltrated all of the clan lands.”

  Matka dropped her head, her expression hidden by shadows. “You won’t slip past them, especially not under a full moon. They are not just Idaran army—they’re Immortals.”

  “What?” The most lethal soldiers in the entire world had attacked his village. “How could you possibly know this?”

  She dropped her head. “I heard them.”

  “I was right next to you,” Otec replied slowly, “and I saw and heard nothing.” She had been acting so strangely since the attack. He realized he knew Matka the artist, and Matka the woman, but he did not know Matka the warrior. And he wasn’t sure he could trust her.

  He rose from a crouch and started off. She reached for him, but he shook her off. “You don’t have to come with me. But I’m going. If I have to fight my way through.”

  “Otec,” she whisper-shouted. “You’re no good to anyone if you’re dead!”

  “I would rather die trying to save my family than live on having done nothing.” He took off at a run, using his long legs to outdistance her. When he reached the place she had stopped earlier, he paused, listening. He saw no sentinels, but he slipped slowly through the shadows, making not a sound. His already-exhausted muscles trembled from fatigue, and sweat poured down his face.

  He came to a place where the trees thinned so that the mountainside was bare. If there were sentinels, this is where they would be. He hesitated, sensing someone was there.

  From behind him, Matka lightly touched his arm. When he looked back, she shook her head, a stray bit of moonlight catching the plea in her eyes.

  Otec motioned for her to stay behind while he went ahead, then slipped to his belly and crawled forward. No sooner had he entered the clearing than something seemed to burst beside him. His head whipped around in time to see an arrow glancing off the rocks right next to him.

  A shrill whistle cut through the silence. Otec was already up and running. If he could just get past the sentinels, he might be able to stay ahead of the Raiders long enough to warn the other clans.

  But as he approached the tree line, three Raiders charged from the trees, their heads shaved to reveal a dizzying pattern of tattoos across their scalps. Otec skidded to a stop, lifting his bow.

  Another arrow whizzed past him, making him belatedly dodge to the side. There were archers in the trees! He rolled behind a log and forced himself to think.

  When the sentinels charged him, the archers wouldn’t be able to shoot for fear of hitting one of their own. Otec had to defeat the three sentinels and make a run for it. Hearing their measured steps approach, he took three arrows in his hand and forced himself to wait. As soon as they were close enough, he rose up and let an arrow fly.

  Then another. Then another. Otec was running again. But more Immortals were charging him. He had time to fire one last arrow before they were on him. He whipped out his bow, using it like a staff.

  One soldier dropped back, hacking a curved sword down on Otec’s bow. Two more swung at him, one from each side. He jumped back, feeling more than seeing the damage to his bow. They tried to encircle him.

  Knowing he was dead if they managed it, he backed up, using the much longer reach of his bow to whack at one of the others. The Raider twisted to the side, trapping Otec’s bow in his armpit and hacking it in two.

  Otec dropped the useless bit of wood, realizing he was finished. But he would die fighting. He charged the Immortal in front of him. The man whipped around Otec, took hold of his neck, and shoved him face down into the dirt. When Otec opened his eyes, the Immortal held a sword tip to his face. Otec didn’t know whether he was more shocked that he was about to die or that the Immortal who’d bested him was a woman.

  As she pulled back to stab him, terror coursed through his body. He did not want to die. Not like this. But then a voice cut through the stillness and the Immortal paused. Though none of the sentinels moved their swords from him, all of them turned to face the source of the voice.

  Otec’s eyes widened in horror at the sight of Matka. “Run!” he commanded her, wanting to shake her for coming after him only to get herself killed by an archer.

  Then she spoke again, but he recognized none of the words. And he realized she was not speaking Clannish. But he was certain it wasn’t Svass either.

  The woman holding the sword to Otec’s throat responded in the same language. His gaze darted back to Matka. She was speaking Idaran.

  Otec stared at her, horror clawing through his chest. “Matka?”

  She turned to face him, surrounded by people with dusky skin and shaved scalps. And he knew. She wasn’t tan—she was dark skinned. And her hair was short because she’d shaved it before.

  “You’re an Idaran.”

  Matka didn’t deny it. And if she was an Idaran, so were Jore and all the rest of the so-called highmen. The Raiders hadn’t invaded the Shyle, they’d infiltrated it. And the Shyle had felt safe because half of the visitors’ numbers were women.

  Otec’s rage started on the back of his neck and prickled down his arms. “You came to my people claiming to be friends and made us trust you. And then you attacked us.” His voice trembled with barely controlled fury. “But why befriend me—help me—only to do this?” He met Matka’s gaze. “What kind of heartless witch are you?”

  She winced and barked something at the sentinels, who barked back at her. Whatever she had said worked. While one sentinel kept a sword to Otec’s throat, the others bound his hands behind his back, checked him for weapons, and removed his bedroll, which they tossed to the side like it was filled with refuse.

  All the while he couldn’t help but wonder if these were the same weapons used to kill his friends and family. The same ropes they’d used to bind his family’s hands as they’d made them slaves.

  They hauled Otec up and shoved him in front of them. With his hands bound, it was hard to keep his balance, and he stumbled down the mountain in the dark. They passed more sentinels and archers in the trees, which must have been how they’d spotted him in the first place. What he wouldn’t pay to see them all suffer for what they had done.

  A shadowy figure came running at them, calling out to Matka. Otec didn’t realize it was Jore until she started shouting at him in Svass. One of the sentinels issued a command. When Matka replied, her voice was softer, but the outrage still came through.

  “My family,” Otec said pleadingly as Jore approached. “What of my family?”

  The man wouldn’t look at him. “Those who fought were killed. But your family was all alive when I left.”

  “Left?” Otec blurted.

  One of the guards cuffed him. “Silence!”

  Jore stepped closer and dropped his voice so the other sentinels couldn’t hear. “Their guards have no reason to harm your family so long as they remain compliant.”

  Otec spit at Jore, who wiped his face without showing any reaction. “I told you to remember,” Jore said without looking back.

  Matka stormed up to her brother, shoving him and cursing him in Svass. Jore kept his balance and spoke to her in a low tone.

  Ignoring them, the guards dragged Otec into a campsite tucked deep into a grove. There were no tents. No fires. Hardly any sounds. Just dozens and dozens of Raiders sleeping in blankets as if they hadn’t just murdered women and children and burned their homes to the ground.

  The sentinels directed Otec to stand before a figure curled up in blankets. They said something in Idaran, and a man shifted and pulled the blankets off his head.

  It was Tyleze, the man who’d commanded Jore to stand down after he’d insulted Holla. “What’s this?” he asked.

 

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