Chapter 29
Reike faced Annath and his men. Her hand didn’t stray far from her sword. “Chief Wolfbach,” she acknowledged with a nod, mouth drawn.
Despite Reike’s command, the boys remained in their place. Annath watched them for too long. “Ye’ve been demoted to a nursemaid?” His chuckle was biting. “Had ye said ‘yes’ to my nephew, ye could’ve had yer own to look after.”
“I’m a Blutmeer and the Warlord’s shield,” Reike said through her gritted teeth, “not some breeding mare for Wolfbachs.”
Trisha pulled Dapple’s reins tighter. The crackling hostility in the air prickled her neck.
Ernaut scoffed. “So proud, Reike, to be in Dewingar’s tow?”
“Better in his tow than under you. How do you like your scar?”
Anger twisted the man’s face. Unexpectedly, he relaxed and smiled. The red scar twisted as though alive. “Fancy for ye to ask. I’ve been waiting to return it.”
“You’re welcome to try,” Reike taunted.
Annath nodded, and his men urged their horses forward. Dapple whinnied, skittering away.
Ernaut’s grin was full of wicked resolve. He slid off his horse, the moist ground squishing under his boots. “I’ll do much better than just try, Reike.”
“Leave Shield Stammek alone,” piped Egard. Bow drawn, he aimed it at Ernaut, but his arm was shaking.
“Don’t be a fool, Egard,” Reike snapped. “Stay behind.”
“Listen to yer elders, pup. Move aside,” Ernaut chuckled, sauntering toward them. “Unless ye want to lose a limb.”
Egard’s Adam’s apple bobbed, but he didn’t budge. Pursing his mouth, Dietric took a step forward to stand beside Egard. Jaun’s hand moved to the knife at his belt.
“Sniveling idiots,” Ernaut sneered. A snap of wood preceded a shocked cry, and Egard’s bow lay shattered on the ground. A gleaming blade rested next to his throat. “Here’s some advice. Next time, don’t hesitate.”
Growling, Dietric pounced at the man. Ernaut sidestepped, slapping his back with his sword.
“No!” Trisha gasped.
Steel flew. A clang rang out, and Ernaut grunted, staggering back. Reike stepped before Dietric.
“How dare you! He’s just a boy!” Reike snapped, sword raised. “Dietric, are you all right?” she asked, eyes fixed on Ernaut.
“I’m… I’m fine,” Dietric muttered as Jaun and Egard helped him upright.
Swiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Ernaut smiled and spat. Sunlight glinted in his eyes. “Want to teach your pups, do you? Shall we demonstrate?”
“Happy to give you another scar,” replied Reike.
A sharp clang as their swords met, and Trisha involuntarily gulped.
She wanted to help, but there wasn’t enough time to prep the bow, and the Wolfbach soldiers kept approaching.
Dapple skittered a few dancing steps away.
Calves pressed against his flank, she ordered her horse to hold his place.
Terrified as she was, Trisha was no sheep to be herded as others willed.
But what could she do?
As if to answer, the warm power within her bones sparked. Trisha’s fingers pressed into the leather, knuckles whitening. She couldn’t. Could she?
If so, not this openly at least.
The gray-bearded clan chief sat on his saddle, lips pulled back.
Surely Annath wouldn’t be willing to risk the Warlord’s ire this close to Moorhafen?
An image of the fight between him and Blainor resurfaced.
Her gaze flicked to Reike and the three boys, lingering on the red-haired Dietric.
If something happened to Fjorten’s son, how would he and Byne react? What would Blainor say?
“Chief Wolfbach,” Trisha shouted. “Call your men away!”
“It’s in his right, bard.” Annath’s attention remained on his nephew and Reike as they circled each other. They would clash something fierce—it was inevitable. “Stammek accepted.”
Trisha’s mouth thinned. Curse these northerners. Why did they insist on solving every argument with blades? Unbuckling the lyre case’s flap, she whispered, “You must drop me off.”
Dapple’s ears flattened, fretful. He tossed his head, unwilling to obey.
Trisha bent low. “I need a distraction.”
Dapple let out a tentative whinny.
The soldiers were getting closer.
“Dapple,” she hissed.
With a sharp neigh, the horse reared. Trisha didn’t even need to pretend to yelp.
Releasing the reins, she slid off the saddle and, with the sky mocking her, fell.
A sense of vertigo assaulted her, the leather of her lyre’s case held tightly in her arms. Impact with the ground knocked the wind out of her lungs, and for a moment, she lay motionless.
The wet, numbing grass pressed against her woolen shirt seeping through the fabric.
Groaning, Trisha glared at her horse. His warm muzzle dropped, Dapple blew air over her face, ears twitching in silent question.
“I’m all right,” she muttered and staggered up.
Her back stung, but gods forbid if her instrument was out of tune.
Trisha’s heart pounded in her ears so loudly that it drowned out all other noises.
Beyond, Reike and Ernaut had paused, but as though her getting to her feet was a silent sign, they moved.
Their swords clashed, clanging as they met.
No time to think more. She pulled the instrument out, dropped the case, and hit a chord.
For a split second, everything hung still. Then, like a wave, her power surged. The sound spread through the valley—too loud, too jarring. It whipped across the ground, bending the grass and bowing the narrow willows. Everything stilled: the breeze, the movement, even the birdsong.
Trisha straightened, fingers dancing over the strings.
She didn’t pay attention to what music she played.
Only her lyre’s power and the world pushing back mattered.
The others struggled, straining to break free from her spell, but her control held firm.
Stronger than their will, it suspended the people in the enthrallment of her song.
Everyone froze. Reike, her sword lifted before her chest, leg half in the air.
Ernaut about to deal a blow. The boys, their white faces petrified in eternal terror, bodies frozen.
Jaun’s dagger, partially pulled out; Dietric’s mouth opened into a shout, and Egard staring at the broken bow with a grief-stricken expression.
The men on their horses, with their tails mid-motion.
Flies and gnats, hovering in the air. They simply stood there, stuck, unable to move, all under her magic’s control.
Trisha almost grinned. The magic swirled around her, freed, reveling in its freedom. She relished this feeling. The endless exertion of fighting against her magic: gone. It exhausted her. To be on guard, never letting go. Not today.
The music grew with her magic. Yet, tiny fissures frayed the edges of her song. The sea beyond the hills crashed against the shore, the wind blew against the magic’s barrier, and the moisture on the ground yearned to the sky. Life couldn’t be held back.
Trisha’s mind raced while her music kept everything in stasis. What to do now? She hadn’t thought beyond this move. The bard had mesmerized them, including Reike and the boys. Their horses. But to stop now, and she’d free everyone—Annath, Ernaut, and their men.
They were furious. Their anger burned red-hot, the men wrestling to free themselves from her enchantment. They’d kill her. She didn’t doubt it.
Perhaps a slumber? No, it would put the horses to sleep. Stupid. She gritted her teeth. Had Trisha had the luxury of premeditation, she could have built the magic to skim over them.
Her legs trembled under the strain. The fissures became cracks, wind brushing her skin, a seagull’s cry breaking through.
The pressure of her song pearled on her forehead, her clammy fingers slipping on the strings.
She bit down a curse. If she didn’t come up with an idea, she would be the one to succumb under her own spell.
At each discarded scenario, her shoulders hunched. Her options diminished until only one remained. Trisha’s mouth dried. She’d reveal everything.
Her gaze flitted between Reike and Ernaut, between Annath Wolfbach on his sorrel horse and Dapple. This never-ending fight against her magic—to keep it leashed. What had it brought? Secrets screaming at her at night. Dream of a past she could never reach.
If she didn’t act today, she’d carry this decision with her for the rest of her life. Could never stop. A looping predicament. And did she want that, to travel these roads, keep running? Her mouth firming, Trisha made up her mind. For what was power if she let them bleed?
Reaching deeper than ever before, she called forth the song she’d never dared to sing.
The music altered, the sound threading through the low valley, growing deeper.
As it did, the sky darkened. The unnatural stillness shattered, fractured shouts breaking out.
The previous enchantment released the others from its grip.
The transition was almost too quick, the world darkening.
For one breathless moment, Trisha swayed under the strain.
And yet, all she felt was elation. Pure freedom.
At last, cried a part of her. A part locked, hidden behind her control all these years.
Distantly, she remained aware of the men loading their bows, of Ernaut turning to face her. He took a step before Reike tackled the man to the ground.
They didn’t matter. She was stronger than them all.
Never before had she allowed herself to become so entrenched with her music, pushing it out instead of reining it in.
The notes shimmered visibly, not only to her but to everyone.
But Trisha didn’t care. Didn’t mind. She let it all flow and became one with the power that belonged to her.
Her reason for being in this realm. Her birthright.
Untethered, the music soared out. Trisha played the lyre. And it was glorious.