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Authors: Shawna Thomas
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fighter. Now the appearance was deserved. They’d fought in the border wars together before King Josiam of Darmis, to the south, married the northern king’s sister and declared peace. Nathan had seen King Leisle’s sister and since the wedding had half expected Josiam to call foul and declare another war, but so far it hadn’t happened.
He wasn’t alone. The rumors bandied around the kingdom hinted that she must have hidden talents.
Matias answered Nathan’s grin with one of his own and fell into step. “What chance do we have?”
“Against an enemy we can’t see until they’re down our throats? I don’t know.”
“Have you received any word from the king?”
“Just that viscount.” Nathan nodded a greeting to a few of his men busy reclaiming a large garden that had grown wild but still contained rich, dark earth, surprisingly almost free of stones.
A trail of smoke snaked up from behind the fortress. The kitchen was a separate wooden structure set a few feet away from the keep, near the barns. Nathan smiled at the irony. He was sure whoever built the kitchen so close to the stables didn’t know that one day it would be a toss-up of which smelled more noxious.
“Next time you send word to the king, have him send us someone who cooks edible food.”
Nathan slapped Matias on the back. “I’m sure that’ll be his majesty’s first priority.”
“Yeah, right after baths and winsome wenches. Come on, I’m starving. Even Cook’s gruel is starting to smell appetizing.”
The two abandoned houses loomed ahead on either side of the road; the village was close. Every time Selia passed the structures, it seemed they’d shrunk, slowly giving in to the forest that would eventually claim them. Tired, hollow windows surveyed the road with something like despair. A house built so near—but not in the town—was an oddity. Two houses close together was downright strange in the Outskirts, where people prized their privacy. Some said a sect of sun worshippers lived there before forest sprites drove them out.
Whatever their history, the little houses were the sad and lonely guardians for the southern entrance to the village. When she was young, spending the night in one of the houses was a popular dare. But Oren would never allow her to, and the other children didn’t try to persuade her otherwise. They’d always given Oren, and consequently her, a wide berth.
In the distance, the village square opened up before her, though to call it a square took a leap of imagination. Of course, to call the place a village was also generous. Seven wooden buildings lined up on either side of a large gnarled oak tree, as though waiting for instructions. The oak was sacred to the villagers and the reason why the first settlers stopped their weary trek and called this place home. Supposedly, it was inhabited by a wood sprite that bestowed wisdom to those who were worthy. In Selia’s lifetime, she didn’t recall anyone having merited the oak’s gift but had seen two thieves killed against its trunk.
The official name for the area lying between the great North road and the Wastes, and stretching from the mountains in the north to the southern lands, was Calud. But those who dwelt in that land didn’t much care what Inlanders said—they called it the Outskirts. Technically, they were part of King Leisle’s kingdom of Asild, but besides the occasional traveling judge, his rulings neither helped nor hindered their lives. Those living in the Outskirts had their own code of ethics, one which didn’t ask about a person’s past and demanded the same. If you worked hard, didn’t ask for a handout, played a clean game of cards—or at least didn’t win all the time—you were generally accepted and, after a while, became part of the landscape. If you didn’t, justice was swift.
On the other side of the square, the road continued north until the forest swallowed it. Somewhere along its path lay the White Forest and
He wasn’t alone. The rumors bandied around the kingdom hinted that she must have hidden talents.
Matias answered Nathan’s grin with one of his own and fell into step. “What chance do we have?”
“Against an enemy we can’t see until they’re down our throats? I don’t know.”
“Have you received any word from the king?”
“Just that viscount.” Nathan nodded a greeting to a few of his men busy reclaiming a large garden that had grown wild but still contained rich, dark earth, surprisingly almost free of stones.
A trail of smoke snaked up from behind the fortress. The kitchen was a separate wooden structure set a few feet away from the keep, near the barns. Nathan smiled at the irony. He was sure whoever built the kitchen so close to the stables didn’t know that one day it would be a toss-up of which smelled more noxious.
“Next time you send word to the king, have him send us someone who cooks edible food.”
Nathan slapped Matias on the back. “I’m sure that’ll be his majesty’s first priority.”
“Yeah, right after baths and winsome wenches. Come on, I’m starving. Even Cook’s gruel is starting to smell appetizing.”
The two abandoned houses loomed ahead on either side of the road; the village was close. Every time Selia passed the structures, it seemed they’d shrunk, slowly giving in to the forest that would eventually claim them. Tired, hollow windows surveyed the road with something like despair. A house built so near—but not in the town—was an oddity. Two houses close together was downright strange in the Outskirts, where people prized their privacy. Some said a sect of sun worshippers lived there before forest sprites drove them out.
Whatever their history, the little houses were the sad and lonely guardians for the southern entrance to the village. When she was young, spending the night in one of the houses was a popular dare. But Oren would never allow her to, and the other children didn’t try to persuade her otherwise. They’d always given Oren, and consequently her, a wide berth.
In the distance, the village square opened up before her, though to call it a square took a leap of imagination. Of course, to call the place a village was also generous. Seven wooden buildings lined up on either side of a large gnarled oak tree, as though waiting for instructions. The oak was sacred to the villagers and the reason why the first settlers stopped their weary trek and called this place home. Supposedly, it was inhabited by a wood sprite that bestowed wisdom to those who were worthy. In Selia’s lifetime, she didn’t recall anyone having merited the oak’s gift but had seen two thieves killed against its trunk.
The official name for the area lying between the great North road and the Wastes, and stretching from the mountains in the north to the southern lands, was Calud. But those who dwelt in that land didn’t much care what Inlanders said—they called it the Outskirts. Technically, they were part of King Leisle’s kingdom of Asild, but besides the occasional traveling judge, his rulings neither helped nor hindered their lives. Those living in the Outskirts had their own code of ethics, one which didn’t ask about a person’s past and demanded the same. If you worked hard, didn’t ask for a handout, played a clean game of cards—or at least didn’t win all the time—you were generally accepted and, after a while, became part of the landscape. If you didn’t, justice was swift.
On the other side of the square, the road continued north until the forest swallowed it. Somewhere along its path lay the White Forest and
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