Page 49 of Silverbow (The Godsung Saga #1)

She was nocking an arrow as Oryn backed through the door.

He spun on his heel and darted for Kiawa as Bade dammed the tide of men.

When Oryn was mounted, the dark-eyed demi-elf took measured steps back, letting the fight spill with him out into the night.

When his boots hit the dirt, his companions charged in to guard his retreat toward Cle.

A knight broke away from Aiden and Enya loosed.

Another lunged off the steps, diving for Bade’s ankles and she let a second arrow fly.

“Go!” Colm shouted at her, turning Lanta up the road.

Enya wheeled Arawelo as Kiawa lunged into the fray, his broad chest scattering the men who tried to collapse in as Bade mounted.

As soon as the demi-elf was seated, the sounds of the fight were lost in the thundering of hooves.

Shouts rose up behind them as they fled, but they fell away with the lights and the rooftops of the village.

Kiawa ran beside Arawelo, little more than a shadow shifting in the night.

When they finally drew up, the horses blowing, she felt Oryn scanning her in the dark. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head and wiped her face with her sleeve. “It’s not mine.”

So much for the bath.

The village far behind them, Bade led them off the road to camp.

Satisfied after some distance, he dismounted.

Around him, they threw blanket rolls in the dirt and settled in.

Aiden conjured a tiny flame no bigger than Enya’s fist, but it was enough light to see the blood that painted her companions.

Bade’s shirt sleeve glistened wetly, but he waved off Oryn’s offer for healing. Instead, he wound a strip of bandage around it and tied it off, muttering something about close quarters and tinder boxes. Oryn’s own sleeve hung open around his bicep, and Colm prodded at it.

“Have you ever sewn up a man, Lady Silverbow?” He asked.

She wrinkled her nose. “He can’t heal himself?”

“Our wieldings don’t work on ourselves,” Colm answered, fishing a sewing kit from his saddlebags.

“It won’t just heal?”

“It will, but this one will need some help getting started,” he answered.

Oryn begrudgingly shouldered out of his shirt.

Enya got a little lost in all the skin on display, but she took the needle that Colm pushed into her hand.

She’d seen Mistress Alys sew up wounds that didn’t warrant a wise woman and she’d seen Del sew up horse flesh, but she’d never tried it herself.

Her hands trembled as she touched her fingers to his kin, following Colm’s instructions .

“For a lady, your needlepoint is bloody awful,” Oryn growled through clenched teeth.

“It’s not a pillow, my lord ,“ she answered.

“A blind woman could do a better job of this.”

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Serves him right.

“You’re doing a fine job, Enya,” Colm encouraged, guiding her through each stitch.

“Bloody awful,” Oryn muttered as she tied off the thread and he buttoned his shirt.

“I take a wound and I never hear the end of it,” Aiden muttered. “But the blademasters take wounds, and no one says a thing.”

The demi-elves all glared at the fire wielder.

“Who is Elred’s Eagle?” Enya asked.

“Oh, here we bloody go,” Aiden sighed.

“It’s what they call Bade in the stories,” Colm answered. Enya looked between them, waiting. He sighed and went on. “When they tell of his valor during Ryland’s Rebellion.”

“Valor,” Bade spat. “Valor is just a made up thing bards sing of.”

“Ryland’s Rebellion was two hundred years ago.” She’d known Bade had been there and she’d gathered they all had to be immortal, but she hadn’t asked how old immortal really was.

“Two hundred and twenty-three,” Colm corrected.

Light. Enya sifted through the legends and lore she’d heard around fires, trying to place Elred’s Eagle. “You…you led the southern legion?”

“I led the men of Eastwood,” Bade answered bitterly. “What was left of them.”

Enya marveled, but the other bits of that story came floating up from the dregs of her memory, and she shifted uncomfortably. “You sacked every city in the South.”

“The South was in open rebellion,” Colm answered. “When Itham fell, his sons took up the cause.”

Ryland House had been scrubbed from the pages of history at the end of that war. “Is that why you took their heads?”

Bade spat. “ That was your Princess General’s doing. Thought the fool boys didn’t give her much choice. Refused to bend the knee even after it was over. ”

Enya blinked. The stories told of Eastwood’s revenge in a savage onslaught against the South. But it was her fascination with Anala Trakbatten that won out. Estryia’s great Seconds, the sisters to the queens, were as preserved in lore as Sana Silverbow. “What was she like?” She asked in wonder.

“Ask the spirit wielder.”

Enya swiveled to Colm. He reclined on an elbow, gazing at the tiny ball of flame that flickered without any kindling. “Good woman, great general.”

Aiden snickered. Enya blinked as Bade’s scowl was replaced by a smirk. Oryn scrubbed a hand down his face and sighed.

“Well?”

“Fire made flesh, the bards call her. She was perhaps the last great Second Estryia ever had. Deadly on the field, bonded to the meanest orange morningstar the Vale has ever seen. Bimrei was his name. Even the dragon keepers shied from him. But Anala was loved by her people.”

Bade gave a snort of laughter that made Enya jump.

“They weren’t the only ones who loved Anala,” Aiden muttered.

Enya blinked again. Colm? The spirit wielder gave him a flat, bored look.

“She knew every man in her camp on sight. Knew their names, where they were from, who they left behind when they marched for her. We’d often find her dicing with the foot or playing cards with the cavalry until dawn.

I’ve known a few of Estryia’s Seconds, and Anala Trakbatten deserves her place amongst the greats. ”

“You’d think one of the greats would have done something about Itham Ryland before he flew on Eastwood,” Bade hissed.

Sadness swept over Colm’s features. “Anala Trakbatten is not to blame for Itham’s treachery. That blame lies with no one but the Betrayer himself.”

Bade muttered something too quiet for Enya to hear about blame. Aiden loosed a heavy sigh. Something about this discussion had a dog-eared feel to it, like a chapter frequently revisited for debate.

“Perhaps you’d see it more clearly if you’d spent more time in the war tent and less in her tent.”

Enya choked on air. Colm? And Anala Trakbatten? Together? Light.

Danger flashed across Colm’s kindly face, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

“Careful Bade, for a moment, I thought Colm might want to defend her honor,” Oryn chuckled.

“ Colm is smarter than the average hedge knight,“ Bade spat .

Real laughter broke around the camp, chasing away the tension.

“Suitor, huh?” Aiden asked. “Ouch.”

“They’ll make anyone a knight,” Enya sighed. “I sometimes wonder if they were not some kind of divine punishment.”

“I find myself wondering the same thing of late,” Oryn muttered.

Enya glared at him. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

“And yet-”

“There was not one you liked?” Colm asked quickly.

Enya huffed and looked down at the carving she held. “I’m not sure there was one that liked me. They liked the herd. They liked the land.”

“To hold out for love is a luxury most houses cannot afford,” Oryn said coolly.

Enya snorted. “I’ll go poor and hungry before I am shackled to a man I do not like.”

As her words settled, she thought about the coin in her pocket and the invisible bond tethering her to Oryn Brydove, and realized she already was, at least in part.