Echoes (17 page)

The dramatic clash of armies that they had been expecting hadn’t happened. King Jaymes saw no reason to send his troops forth when they could pick the Breken off from the walls of the capital with much less risk. The only flaw in that plan was that the Breken could do the same to the citizens of the capital. For the most part, the Breken seemed content to let the Mirin Tor sit. They knew their supplies would not last forever, and eventually they would need to come forth. Winter wasn’t so very far away, after all.

Dearra was frustrated. There were far too many children remaining, for one thing. She had raged at Daniel to make Carly go to the mountains, but he said there was no guarantee the mountains would ultimately prove to be any safer than the capital, and he wanted his wife and child where he could watch over them, besides.

The dull thunk of arrows hitting their target reached Dearra’s ears, and she wandered to the practice range. Zusia was pacing up and down behind a line of boys all older than herself.

“Hold it up higher. Higher!” she said, hitting one boy’s elbow.

The youngster, who looked all of fourteen, dropped the bow, fumbled to retrieve it, and then hurriedly tried to get back into the correct position.

Zusia stood before him, placed her hands on her hips, and narrowed her gaze before speaking. “You understand that it works better if you keep ahold of it, right? Are any of you even serious about wanting to learn? I don’t think so,” she said, not waiting for them to respond. “I think you wanna play at being warriors, but you’re too unskilled to swing a sword, and you thought this would be an easy alternative.”

A few of the boys shuffled from one foot to another. Her words, like her arrows, had struck their targets with complete accuracy. Phillip was at the far end of the line. He tried to hide the grin on his face, knowing that though she sounded angry, Zusia was thoroughly enjoying herself. In Parsaia she would never have been allowed the use of a bow, let alone have the chance to teach a group of boys and young men how to use it.

Dearra walked closer so she could better watch them train. They all snapped to attention and offered small bows or head nods to the Lady of Maj when they saw her.

“Zuzu? How’s it going?” she asked.

“Zuzu?” a gangly teenager on the end said under his breath, and then snorted back a little laugh.

Zusia tipped her head slightly to the side and gave the young man a cold, Breken glare before turning back to Dearra and saying, “It’s goin’ great, Lady Dearra. They are all experts in showing each other what
not
to do. If I could get them to keep their eyes open when they shoot, not hold their breath when they aim, and actually keep hold of their bows for five minutes in a row, well then, we might have something. Phillip’s okay, but I imagine that’s because he isn’t a complete idiot.”

Dearra smiled at her brother, who snapped her a quick salute, and grinned back at her. In the year since they had returned from Parsaia, Phillip had shot up several inches. He was all legs and elbows, and the roundness of his face had given way to angles and lines as his jaw became more defined. He was still a child, but Dearra could occasionally catch glimpses of the man he would become. Every once in a while she would see her father in a movement or facial expression of his.

“Would you like a demonstration?” Zusia asked.

“I certainly would!” Dearra’s enthusiasm was not feigned. She missed the practice fields at home and watching the children as their skills improved.

“I’ll go first,” Zusia said. “I’ll need a volunteer. You!” she said, pointing at the young man who had been foolish enough to mock the nickname Phillip had given her. “You, volunteer. Go stand in front of the target and hold one of those stones out to your side in your left hand.” The boy hesitated. “If you’re frightened, I can choose another volunteer.”

Doesn’t really understand the concept of volunteer too well, does she?
Brin commented.

Dearra bit the inside of her mouth to keep from chuckling out loud.

The boy, unwilling to be thought a coward, hitched his pants up, and strode forward. He stopped to pick up a stone and held his hand straight out from his side. He clenched his other fist, and refused even to blink.

Zusia picked up her bow. She had the arrow nocked, drawn, and loosed in one fluid movement. The arrow flew, and removed the cap from the boy’s head, pinning it to the target behind him, without even ruffling his hair.

The boy dropped the stone, and reached up to his now bare head. His face was a comic mask of shock.

“Rule number five,” Zusia remarked, setting the bow back on the ground. “Misdirection is your friend. If you can make the enemy think you are going to do one thing, when you really mean to do something else, you will have an advantage over them. Every advantage matters, no matter how slight. Learn to use those advantages whenever possible. Your enemy will.”

Dearra was impressed. Zusia was an excellent teacher. She was showing them things they needed to know, leading by example. She had also managed to put the young man in his place for being disrespectful, but she did it in a mature and thoughtful way that would stay with him for a long time to come.

“Get yourselves into position,” Zusia ordered, and nine bows came up. “One at a time now, draw and shoot. Remember to keep your eyes open, draw on the inhale, and release on the exhale.”

One by one they went down the line. The first arrow flew well, but it went wide, and splintered on the wall beyond. The second and third arrows were aimed too low, and after a short way, skidded to a halt in the dirt. Arrows four, five, six, and seven managed to hit the target with varying degrees of accuracy. One of them even managed to hit near center, but based on the look of surprise on the archer’s face, it was more luck than skill that had been at play. The eighth shooter’s arrow ended up in the dirt.

Then it was Phillip’s turn. He drew back smoothly, and released the arrow. The instant the missile left his bow, a blinding flash of white shot forward. Reo flew into the air and snatched the arrow, midflight, before trotting back to Phillip, sitting directly in front of him, and dropping the arrow at his feet. The wolfy grin on his face showed plainly that he was quite proud of himself. He almost appeared to be asking the boy to continue this new, marvelous game of fetch.

“Good boy, Reo,” Phillip said, scratching the wolf behind his ears.

“Good boy?” Zusia said, coming alongside and scowling at Phillip.

“Sure,” he said. “You have to admit—he was the only one of us to actually get what he was aiming for.”

Zusia smirked and then offered the wolf a few gentle pats on his head.

“Thank you for the splendid demonstration,” Dearra said warmly. “I’ll not keep you any longer. You are doing a wonderful job.”

Zusia flushed a little at the praise and then nodded respectfully to Dearra.

Dearra wasn’t sure where to go next. Her feet seemed to lead her nowhere in particular. There was activity everywhere she looked.

Children were digging up the ground in spots. They sifted through the dirt to pick out any stones that were large enough to be used in a sling, and placed them into baskets.

The last of the late fall crops were being gathered and stored.

Girls who would normally be plying their needles on tapestries and embroidery had put themselves to work mending and repairing worn garments and damaged leather armor.

She looked up at the towering walls and saw male Etrafarians, the ones skilled with fire, standing watch every hundred paces or so. 

A week after the Breken had arrived, there had been a great deal of chopping noises coming from the distant woods. It didn’t take too long to discover the reason—the Breken were constructing catapults. Thankfully their range was only about six or seven hundred feet. Beyond that they fell short of the mark or lost too much power. It was still further than any archer could shoot. The first few missiles sent by the Breken had not reached their target, but they were getting more accurate, and adjusting their distance and aim.

King Jaymes worried they would have no choice but to send men out to engage, but then Aesri had directed some of her countrymen to the walls. The men lifted their hands, and after some adjustments of their own, were able to light a couple of the catapults on fire, scattering their operators. One of the Etrafarians tried to get a catapult that was still under construction, but he was too far away. He levitated out and away from the wall, moving far too close. Just as he was successful in his mission, a dart from a crossbow shot him from the sky. The Etrafarians on the walls rose as one, their anger was terrifying to behold. They did not make the same mistake as their fallen comrade, and stayed at the walls where they had, at least, some protection. From there, they unleashed a torrent of earth, fire, water, and wind, unlike anything ever seen in their living memory. Truth be told, it didn’t do much good.

They managed to kill a couple dozen Breken, but the rest retreated to the safety of the woods to wait out the fairy storm. For all of their power, the fairies weren’t limitless. There was a range to their magic too, and once spent, they had to take the time to recover before they could act again.

Aesri let them rage. There had been some grumbling about what they were even doing there. The spell to free the dragon had failed. There was no evidence that future tries would be successful, and some of them, especially the men, were missing home, but the fall of their brother had sparked their sense of justice and refocused them.

Dearra nodded to the Etrafarian above her, having recognized him from one of her discussions with Aesri. She couldn’t remember his name, but he responded with a nod of his own before resuming his watch.

She came around a corner and stopped abruptly. A little girl of nine or ten was weeping bitterly, surrounded by a group of friends who all looked at a loss as to how best to comfort their forlorn friend. Aesri had also noticed the group as well, and she approached them, just as Dearra did.

“What is wrong, child?” Aesri asked, lowering herself to sit beside the girl.

The crying ended abruptly. The little girl’s eyes were wide with wonder as she looked at the beautiful fairy lady before her.

“Well?” Aesri tried again.

The girl looked down at her feet, and she mumbled something too low to be heard.

“I cannot hear you, dear one. You will have to speak up.”

“I said, I got into trouble with my mamma. She took my dolly, and says I can’t play with it no more till I can learn to ‘trol myself.”

“I think you mean, ‘control’ yourself,” Aesri corrected.

“Yeah, that’s what I meant.” The little girl rubbed a dirty sleeve across her running nose.

“If your mother took your doll away, it must have been a serious offense. What did you do to earn such retribution?”

“What’s retrobshion?”

“Retribution. It is like a punishment, or justice served.”

“Oh, I din’t hardly do nothing. I was only goin’ to watch the fairies on the wall. That ain’t so bad, is it?”

“It is quite dangerous. Had your mother forbidden you from going to the wall?”

“Well, she told me she din’t really want me goin’ up there, but that ain’t exactly the same as forbidding. I was only goin’ for a little while,” she said, doing her best to defend herself.

“Be honest now, you knew what she meant,” Aesri said, giving the child a serious look.

Aesri saw the little girl’s blush of guilt, and took it as acknowledgment enough.

“Do not fret, child. All children make mistakes.”

“Even fairy children?” she asked, hopefully. If Etrafarians, whom she viewed as perfection incarnate, could make mistakes, then the sting of her own error would be eased.

“Certainly! Let me tell you about one such girl. She, also, was told by her mother not to go where it was unsafe. You see, our home is kept hidden from the outside world. I am not always sure of the wisdom of that choice. I believe that we miss out on so much, locked away as we are, but it is what it is. We are very set in our ways, you see.

“This girl was older than you, but she was still only a girl, and her mother had repeatedly warned her to stay away from strangers. No matter how often she was told, scolded, warned and punished, it did no good. She made friends with some dolphins, and they would bring her news.”

“She made friends with dolphins? I saw a dolphin once, but it was a long way away, and it din’t pay any attention to me at all,” the girl said sadly.

“Well, Meeshe was a special young lady, and she often spoke to the animals around her. Dolphins are exceptionally intelligent creatures, and they enjoyed her company. She would frequently swim with them in the surf just off the shores of Etrafa.

“Whenever sailors came to one of the nearby islands and stopped over to gather fresh water and fruit, the dolphins would come to tell Meeshe, and she would steal away in one of Etrafa’s little boats to approach the island. She would beach her craft on the opposite side from the sailors, and then stealthily make her way to watch the men as they laughed, worked, and joked.

“There was one ship in particular that drew her like no other. The Hawk and Gull was the name, if I remember correctly. Its sailors had a regular run that brought them to the island about four times a year. If she received word that that specific ship had arrived, nothing could keep her away.