——— 1 ———

⁠—⁠—⁠— I ⁠—⁠—⁠—

“The captives are escaping!”

Bent low over the backs of their horses, Istavan, Guin, and the twins heard the yells go up from the camp behind them. The shrill commands of Amnelis calling for the knights to give chase mingled with the screams and the clash of metal from the fight against the sandworm. The captains’ voices were a desperate roar as they shouted themselves hoarse trying to keep order in the ranks.

The four escapees rode hard, putting distance between themselves and the camp. Soon they could no longer make out their enemies’ words; the distant shouts became a faint, twisted sound like the far away baying of Garmr Hellhound robbed of a feast of souls.

Eastward they galloped, weaving through the boulders, the Nospherus dawn wind hissing through their horses’ manes. The Dawn Star, Jarn’s Eye, grew dimmer as the sun threatened to pierce the sky above the crooked lumps of the Kanan range. Ahead of the four companions stretched open country⁠—and freedom.

“Hyup! Hyaah!” Istavan spurred his horse, goading it on to greater speed. He thought he could hear the shouts of pursuers beginning to ride on their trail, and he expected arrows or crossbow shot to follow soon after. The back of his neck tingled, as if a long hand might reach out from behind and yank him back at any moment.

By comparison, Guin seemed calm as he rode with the boy Remus clinging tightly to his waist. He gave a slight pull on the reins and rode close alongside Istavan.

“Slow down! Push your horse too hard and she’ll tire.”

Istavan, riding with Rinda in the saddle in front of him, turned to look over his shoulder.

The Mongauli camp was disappearing into the morning glare behind them, becoming a faint mirage, no more than a patch of moss on the ground between the white- and ash-colored rocks. He noted that no menacing cloud from the hooves of pursuers was yet rising and allowed himself a sigh of relief and then a flood of outrageous oaths.

“By the fire-breathing black swine of Doal, the muck that cakes its buttocks, and its keeper who’s filthier still! That’s the last time I do anything like that! I swear it, the last⁠—“ Istavan stopped, not because he was through swearing, but because he heard someone softly speak his name. It was Rinda, her voice choked with emotion, her face twisting as she tried to smile through her tears.

“Th-Thank you, Istavan,” she said. “And… and please forgive me. I thought you were gone. I thought y-you were off sleeping somewhere. But you w-were being chased by that sandworm, and… forgive me! Strike me down for doubting you, Istavan.”

“Ha,” the mercenary replied, in the foulest of moods, “if I strike you, will you give me gold? Because I don’t need your thanks, O most annoying of Parros pearls. I’m a fool to have done what I did. By the tattered turban of Jarn, I am a fool! I ignored the first rule of the mercenary, which is: never do anything ’less you’re paid. And the second rule: no attachments. So kill me before you thank me, Your Highness, and give me gold before that!”

Riding alongside, Guin listened to Istavan’s rant in silence. He said not a word, and his leopard mask prevented him from even smiling. But there was a twinkle deep in his yellow eyes that said he was greatly amused. For Guin could see that Istavan Spellsword, though he showed no outward sign of it, blushed on the inside as pink as any rose.

Rinda, still on the edge of girlhood, did not know enough of men to understand Istavan’s outburst.

“Why of all the uncouth… Istavan of Valachia, I’ll not have you speaking such oaths around me! I am a lady, you know!” the princess exclaimed, sliding forward in the saddle and trying to ride with as much dignity as she could muster. “If my thanks are of such little worth to you, then don’t accept them. In fact, I take them back! And don’t you whine about working for free. We may not have anything now, but if Parros should ever rise again, you’ll be repaid tenfold for your services. Does that satisfy you?”

“Ha, you promise you’ll pay?” Istavan grunted, looking unimpressed. “The Crimson Mercenary doesn’t work for a pittance, I’ll have you know.”

“Oh yes? How much is your fee?”

“One million raan.”

“Far more than you’re worth!” Rinda sneered, flushed with fury. “You would take advantage of us?”

“Oh, I’d accept rank instead, if you find my price too dear. Make me a noble!”

“You, a noble? Never!”

“Is that any way to speak to the man who just saved the prophet Rinda Farseer and her Crown Prince brother from painful torture and a public execution at the hands of their Gohran enemies?”

Rinda’s face had been coolly indifferent until Istavan mentioned torture and execution. Now she frowned uncertainly, and said, “Very well. I, Rinda Farseer, promise that when Parros stands again, you will be appointed a captain in the Holy Knights of the Crystal Palace.”

“Be careful what you promise, princess. If your plans for Parros turn out to be more than just a fairytale, you’re stuck with me!” Istavan laughed. Yet he knew that by accepting such a promise even in jest, he was betting on the resurrection of Parros. But then, it occurred to him, perhaps he already had.

Oblivious to the mercenary’s profession of faith, Rinda simply assured, “The royal house of Parros is true to its word, and so am I, Istavan of Valachia. My word is my bond.”

“Captain in the Holy Knights?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ll pay me for my services, too? Okay, not a million raan, perhaps, but a good amount?”

“Of course.”

“Fine.” Istavan licked his lips like a cat after drinking sweet milk. Then his eyes glittered as though he’d had an unwholesome thought of a kind he rather enjoyed.

“By the way,” he added, “what we just agreed on was for saving you and your brother back there. Things are going to get worse from here on out, you know. Who knows how many months it’ll take us to cross the wilds of Nospherus? And then we’ve got the ancient mountains of Kanan to deal with, and none of the legends they tell about those peaks are pretty.

“Say I get you through all that, and guard you until you arrive safely in Earlgos or Cheironia or wherever. Tell me: how will you reward me then?”

“Well, I…”

“Don’t forget, what I just did was worth the post of captain in the Holy Knights of the Crystal Palace!” Istavan insisted, a sly grin on his face. “Let me know when you decide. And remember, whether you hire me or not, I’m a mercenary and I live by mercenary rules. If you hire me, I’ll give my sword to you without further ado, and I’ll serve you loyally until our contract expires or is annulled.”

“I… I understand, but we are heirs to a throne without a country, or a treasury…” Rinda fell silent.

Istavan ran his tongue along his teeth and smiled. “I’ve got an idea! How about, for starters, making me the Duke of Crystal so I can sit right next to you in court? Sounds rather pleasant to me.” Istavan had barely got the words out when he broke into side-splitting laughter, nearly falling from the saddle in his enthusiasm.

“My!” exclaimed Rinda, her face flushing red, “Do you even know what you’re saying, Istavan of Valachia? The Duke of Crystal would not only be third in line for the throne, or my regent if I became queen, he’d be my husband!”

“Let’s say I help you restore your kingdom. You would still refuse to marry me, princess?” Istavan cackled between peals of wild laughter. Suddenly, assuming a serious air, he said, “I don’t think of myself as an unattractive man.” Immediately he set to guffawing again, slapping his sides and rocking back and forth as the mare galloped on beneath them.

Rinda was almost too incensed to respond. “L-Let me off this instant! Stop this horse! I will not sit here and allow such a foul-mouthed cretin to humiliate a princess of Parros! I’d rather take my chances with the sandworms! Stop this horse now!”

“Stop being so childish, the both of you,” Guin demanded. Then he made a sound that was half a hearty belly laugh and half an animal howl.

“I see how it is,” said Istavan, with what seemed like genuine displeasure. “Yes, of course the very thought of me becoming your husband does shame to the royal house of Parros. After all, I am but the son of a poor fisherman of Valachia. I’m a nobody, born with mud between my toes, and a ragpicker on the battlefields since the age of four. Don’t think I don’t know how the world works! So I apologize for shaming you, princess, but do remember this: I was born with a gem in my hand, and the moment I popped out, the village fortune-teller declared that I would one day be king, and that my kingdom would be given to me by the Shining Lady!”

“You never told us that part,” Rinda said, frowning.

“I’m telling you now! And the morning I become king, you’ll remember the honor I offered you, and how you threw it in my face!”

“I never⁠—”

“Stop it! Both of you,” Guin ordered, seeing that, left to their own devices, the two would keep arguing until one of them fell off the horse. “She’s still a child, Istavan,” he said, but no doubt he thought the same was true of the mercenary. Rinda stared out over the wildlands, anger smoldering in her eyes.

Dawn had broken. Another hot day was beginning in the no-man’s land. The sky was a hazy violet-blue, stretching over an expanse of ashen, lichen-streaked rocks. The only things that moved were thin wisps of angel hair drifting from an unknown source, dancing on the wind before they melted back into nothingness.

Seeing that barren landscape reminded Rinda of something, and forgetting her anger for a moment, she peered over her shoulder at Istavan again.

“Suni! What happened to Suni? You… you didn’t eat her?!”

“Please,” growled Istavan, still glowering. “That skinny, smelly monkey? She took off for the hills as soon as she saw that you’d be captured. Aye, bounding off over the rocks she went, looking as happy as could be. Ingrate monkey! Well, can’t say I ever expected more from that one.”

“Suni… ran away?” said Rinda, shocked. She’d grown fonder than she’d realized of the furry little friend she’d met in the tiny room at the top of the tower in Stafolos Keep. More than anything, it had been a comfort to know that, no matter what trouble Jarn set upon them, she would have Suni by her side and they would face it together.

Rinda fell silent and turned away from Istavan, giving herself over to the swaying rhythm of the horse as it picked through the rocky terrain. Her violet eyes were filled with distrust and defiance, and her brows were marked with sadness. She said nothing more as they rode on through the endless Nospherus wildlands, the hoof beats of their horses echoing off the desolate rocks.

They had ridden steadily in silence for a while when Guin called out to the others in a low voice. “Look.”

They twisted in their saddles as he pointed and looked back along the way they had come. A small cloud of dust was rising in the west.

“They’re catching up,” Istavan cursed under his breath.

Guin nodded.

“I was wondering when they’d catch up. We had a good lead, but even so, things were going too well.”

As they watched, the dust cloud grew gradually larger. They could feel their horses beginning to tire; even though the twins were light, the steeds could clearly not continue for much longer carrying a double load. Their speed had been slowly decreasing, and while Istavan and Rinda were arguing, their pursuers, fueled by rage, had been steadily gaining on them.

For a short while, no one spoke. Finally Istavan turned to the leopard-man. “So, Guin, what do you think we should do?” he asked.

Guin hunched his shoulders. “You have any ideas?”

“Yeah, hide! If we can’t fight and we can’t run, it’s our only choice!”

“Hide…” Guin echoed. He seemed to be considering the idea. “How long do you think we could hold out?”

“We can’t do that!” Remus exclaimed, breaking in. “They’ll keep searching until they find us, and we have neither food nor water, but they do! All they have to do is wait!”

“No one asked your opinion, kid,” said Istavan with a scowl. He turned back to Guin. “Got a better idea, leopard-head?”

“No, that I do not…” replied the huge warrior, a resigned tone in his voice.

“Then what?”

“You said we cannot run or fight, but I disagree.”

“What, you would stand against them?” Istavan laughed incredulously. “Hah! By Ruah’s fiery sword, you’re a fool!” The mercenary spat and twisted again in his saddle, squinting, trying to get a better look at the chase party.

“Can you see them? Are they more than a squad, Crimson Mercenary?” Guin demanded.

“Of course I can see them… these eyes of mine can pick out a balto bird atop a tree at one thousand tads! I’d say there’s a full troop back there… red knights, with two of the white at their head.”

Guin seemed to be weighing their chances.

“Hmm… add two more squads to that,” the mercenary reported.

“Not good,” said Guin slowly. “But we will do what we can. Istavan, I don’t suppose you know the lay of this land?”

“Not a bit,” Istavan admitted. “And I dare say I like it that way.”

“To our east⁠—those black lumps are the Kanan Mountains, of which the ancient tales are told.”

“That much I know.”

“We won’t be able to make it to the mountains, but the Raku tribe’s village, of which Suni spoke, should not be far. She told me that her village lies ‘where the dog’s head is your finger,’” said Guin.

“What in Doal’s name is that supposed to mean?”

“Do you see the mountain farthest to the left? That is the sacred peak of Pherus, the highest in the Kanan range. Seen from this side, it is said to look like the head of a dog, and thus its alias, Dog’s Head Mountain.”

Istavan cast Guin a dubious look.

“We can only see half of the head from here, but…” Guin stretched his hand out toward the mountain and raised one finger. “Close one eye, and look at your finger. Now, if you ride to where the height of that finger matches the height of the Dog’s Head, the village of the Raku will not be far.”

Guin turned and gauged the distance between them and their pursuers, who were now so close that individual knights could be seen galloping ahead of the rising cloud of dust.

“The three of you won’t be able to go too fast on one horse, but go as far as you can,” he instructed.

“Huh?” Istavan grunted, a puzzled look on his face. Then his dark oval eyes went round. “Hey, leopard-head!”

“And I’ve lost my sword. I’ll need to borrow yours, mercenary.”

“W-Wait,” Istavan stammered.

“What are you going to do, Guin?!” shouted Rinda.

“Do not worry. I know many ways of dealing with men.” Guin laughed a hard laugh. “Children! What our Crimson Mercenary has said might indeed be true. Nospherus may be my homeland. I’m starting to realize that I know this place, its creatures, and its land as though I have always lived here.”

“Guin! I can’t let you do this! It’s not our right to demand this sacrifice of⁠—”

“You have demanded nothing! I do what I will!” Guin interrupted. He lifted Remus from the horse and, prying away the hands that clung to his waist, tossed the little prince through the air towards Istavan. Istavan wheeled his horse and caught Remus just in time. He hefted the boy onto the rump of his mount.

“Guin! No!” screamed the twins in unison.

Ignoring them, Guin stretched out his hand toward the mercenary. Istavan unbuckled the sword at his waist and threw it to him, still sheathed in its scabbard. The leopard warrior snatched it out of the air and held it aloft in his powerful hand.

“Guin!” protested Istavan.

“Do not worry. See you in Suni’s village.” Then Guin laughed again, a fearless howl that startled the twins.

The Mongauli search party was emerging from the dust cloud now, so close that they were plain to see. The clanging of their armor could be heard over the heavy drum of hoof beats. Their threats and cries to halt carried on the wind and could be made out: “Hey… Over there… Hold…”

“Go! Now!” barked Guin, waving his sheathed sword through the air. “We’ll meet in the Raku village!”

“Right, the village of the Raku! Where the dog’s head is a finger tall!” shouted Istavan, abruptly digging his heels into the side of his horse. Rinda clutched his leg, trying to stop him.

“No! We can’t leave Guin! Please!”

“Get off me, kid! We’re off!”

Guin swept past on his horse and gave Istavan’s mount a smack on the rump with his scabbard. The exhausted mare, startled by the sudden abuse, found the last of her strength and set off at a gallop. “It shouldn’t be more than three leagues from here! I will see you soon!” Guin yelled. Then he wheeled around and charged towards the knights without looking back.

“Halt, fugitives!”

“Halt or we shoot!”

The shouts of the pursuers buzzed around Guin like stone shot from a hundred crossbows. Guin, standing tall in the saddle, gripped his horse’s reins with one hand and, holding the scabbard between his teeth, used his other to draw the sword.

“Stay where you are, leopard-freak!”

“Do not resist, and we will spare your life!”

Guin paid no more attention to the cries of the knights than he did to the whine of the wind or the softly falling angel hair. Quickly he surveyed his surroundings. Had there been a sandworm nest nearby, or even a pack of bigeaters, his task would have been relatively easy; he could have provoked them into attacking the cavalry, making unwitting allies out of the Doalspawn. But when such tactics were unavailable, there was always the way of the sword. Guin sized up the knights⁠—two hundred strong, he could see⁠—riding toward him in tight formation, and he growled low.

“Guin!” came a voice from behind him, and the sound of hooves.

“Fools! Why have you come back?!” the leopard-man howled. His eyes burned with genuine fury.

“Guin, it’s no good,” shouted Istavan, his voice quaking. “Look!” He pointed eastward, the direction in which they had thought to flee. The children were clutching onto his saddle, their lips pale with fright as they looked desperately at the leopard-man.

Guin narrowed his eyes, and the burning wrath that had shone there a moment before vanished in comprehension. On the plains to the east, where they had hoped to find haven from the Mongauli, he could see another cloud of dust signaling the rapid approach of another search party.

“A pincer attack… with us in the middle,” breathed Istavan.

A shrill, pained sound came from Guin’s clenched jaws.

It almost sounded like a growl of despair.