Mav sat with his knees on the snowy ground, his head hanging as he rubbed his hands together. “Please forgive me, Lady Idwyn!” His display of prostration was exaggerated, but he felt his apology would not be acknowledged unless he went to those lengths. That, and the darkness of night, was obscuring his features.

  “It is alright, Mav,” The Truthsayer, speaker of fate and God, absolved him of his sin.

  “It’s okay?” Royce barked incredulously. “The man is a coward. He was not even a good distraction.”

  That was an incorrect statement on the runt’s part. He was not a coward, far from it. Even this apology was a mere pretense, as he would do it again whenever the opportunity arose. He was brave for willingly taking the scorn of his allies. Lady Idwyn knew it as well, which was why he was so easily forgiven. They could not win while he was present. So he would run, then pray for their defeat. Pray that none of the Uxson scoundrels followed him, pray that their mission ended in failure. It was not that the dance of steel scared him. No, it is not that in the least.

  “Whose arrows saved your horse from being cleaved by the Uxson scum?” Mav asked.

  That seemed to be the breaking point for the boy, who came and grabbed his collar, yanking him down. Mav found himself chuckling at the prospect, as there was quite a height difference. He did not particularly care how aggravated this fellow was; his only concern was his patron. Other Drajin were always like this. He was not hostile, but still, they sought conflict with him. It was another curse by God. Friendship was a myth.

  “Enough, Royce.” The Promised One pulled the boy away.

  “It would not have mattered if he ran or not,” Lady Idwyn said through the tension. “We have walked into the middle of a war zone.”

  “That more than proves he can’t be trusted,” Royce proclaimed. “The entire point was that the South was peaceful.”

  Mav frowned. It was what he had heard after all.

  A light, ominous chuckle came from the Truthsayer. “Suspected as much. That foolish young King and the old cow manipulated you.”

  He paled, but she continued to snicker.

  “Why?” The Promised One asked. “Dragging us into a war zone for what?”

  “My death. If one is not running around announcing their position in an area of battle, it is far more likely that they will be killed accidentally. If someone is declaring their name, then all the more possibility that they can be dealt with.” Lady Idwyn said with dark amusement.

  The Promised One was obviously holding in his rage. “They are traitors to Dradris.”

  She shrugged. “I do not know the full scale of their plans, and I knowingly stumbled into their trap. They will also likely settle for killing you, Artowen. But I trust you, and that is why we continued forward.”

  “There appears to be no fighting, though,” Emerii chimed in. “And the way they are doing this underhandedly suggests we will find allies.”

  “Few would dare openly challenge or attempt to end a Truthsayer.”

  Mav scratched his head. “To think they would use me as a tool in your demise. More unreliable is their use of those inhuman Uxsons.”

  The light in Royce’s eyes went out, and the boy shrank back. Mav had thought him an easily irritable child, a spitfire with no end to his energy. Perhaps his impression was wrong, and he got the distinct feeling that it was something that he said that triggered the sudden change. For the first time, he felt a pit in his stomach, though he could not place the emotion.

  The Promised One placed a hand on Royce’s shoulder, “Don’t let it bother you.”

  The boy simply nodded.

  Lady Idwyn continued, “Best to rest while we can, though with no fire we will lack comfort. We do not want to run into more Uxsons, nor let them know our position. Considering the circumstances, this is the time to don your proper armor, all of you.”

  “I thought you dealt with them, Aunt Idwyn?”

  She scowled for a moment, then hid the emotion. “Their general is a rather unpleasant man. He would no doubt insist on a meeting once he found my identity. He is not someone you can deal with right now with your current strength and political prowess.”

  “Who is he exactly?”

  “The Seventh Divine Hammer, Vhorn.”

  “Are things always this tense, Promised One?” Mav asked.

  The man sighed. “Don’t call me only that. My name is Artowen.”

  “Artowen the Promised One is a mouthful to get out in one go, but I’ll try my best, Artowen the Promised One.” This was nephew to his patron, and as such deserved all the respect a meager person like him could give. Even if he really did not believe any of the prophecies.

  “No, just Artowen. You’re a new friend, call me by name.”

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  So it was not only the similarity in their appearance, but in their character as well. There was an openness to the man before him, a kindness that invited comfort. “I will do that then, Artowen.”

  They traveled quickly through the barren trees, up rocky mounds, through snowed-in ditches. Lady Idwyn led the way, her senses as keen as they ever were. It made his existence feel redundant, but every once in a while, she would ask to get affirmation in her choice of path. That heartened him.

  Artowen stuck close to them, his demeanor lighting the mood, but the sharpness in his eyes created a reliable quality. Behind were the two others, the skilled woman and the boy. They had both donned full armor, despite much distance still remaining to their destination. Narrowed, resolute expressions drew Mav’s attention. Even that temperamental child now had the air of a man. The woman’s eyes watched the surroundings warily, while the runt’s was keenly focused on Mav. Occasionally, Artowen would drop back and discuss something with them. From the bits he heard, they were trying to understand the scheme they were thrust into.

  Artowen approached after their talk.

  “I’m used to detesting looks, but your friend has quite a vendetta against me. Did the Citizens do something to him?” Mav asked.

  A half grin. “No, you’re the first he has ever seen. His quarrel lies firmly with you; your sharp jabs and choice of certain words wound him. Then there is the fact that you ran.”

  Was that really all? For some reason, it weighed on his mind more than usual, where he would usually ignore it. Perhaps it was the otherworldly connection he felt with Artowen and Lady Idwyn, the pull of camaraderie that was tethering him more firmly into the real world than the landscape of his mind.

  “I’ll try to fix the problem, Mav. I know you mean nothing by it.”

  Sand away his abrasive edges? No point in that. “It’s okay, Artowen. Once we arrive in Rynswater, I doubt I’ll be seeing much of you all again.” Alone, like always.

  A sudden chill ran up his skin, and he twisted in the direction he sensed the gaze. A snow-capped cliff, far in the distance. A figure, contrasting with that white.

  “More Uxsons?” Royce asked in a hiss.

  Apparently, all had recognized the presence and had turned to ascertain the location. From this distance, they could barely make out that the figure was distinctly not Uxson nor Drajin.

  “A Citizen of St. Eddgaar, from the Territory to the west, no doubt,” Lady Idwyn said.

  The other three instinctively turned to Mav. “Like I’ve said, I’ve never lived there.”

  The Citizen on the cliff had no intention of talking as they departed a few moments after being spotted. Emerii held her eye closed for some time, then opened it with a sigh.

  “No point in tracking that lone scout Emerii,” Lady Idwyn said. Where there is one, there are many, and I doubt we could use them to escape any of their main patrols. Far more skilled than those Bardoo raiders you fought weeks previously, they take possible deities into account.”

  “Still, they revealed their presence for a reason.”

  Lady Idwyn smirked. “A threat.” She then eyed Mav. “And a confirmation.”

  A bad feeling gripped Mav’s heart. He’s going to run, no, he’s going to stand still. He’s going to hide, no, he’ll be out in the open. Their meager party, which was grandly titled the Band of the Promised One, was marked by the Citizens. The frequency at which they were spotted was increasing, their presence known. That meant contact was inevitable.

  “What’s happening?” Mav murmured under his breath. Luckily, no one heard, or at least they pretended they didn’t.

  The sun was beginning to set, and the capital was still far from them. He had heard nothing of Territory soldiers so far into their Kingdom. From one trap to another, he had played his part perfectly and guided his patron to her doom. Unbeknownst to them, they were carrying a curse, and he had to separate from them.

  The ochre glaze spread across the land. An ominous sunset to enshrine their capture, their death. The Citizens had yet to make contact, so there was a possibility it would turn out okay, but that was unlikely. There was a distinct sense that they were being funneled somewhere. Every spotting of a scout group caused them to course correct, speeding toward some unknown destination.

  That premonition came to fruition as they stumbled into an encampment, based in a decrepit village abandoned long before this invasion. Makeshift, but nonetheless a base of operations for the invading Citizens. Torches lit to beat back the encroaching night that clung to the edge of the dying day. Haphazard barricades protected the heart of the base. Warriors in their traditional armor, lighter than what the Drajin wore, but more flexible, allowing for a greater range of motion. On alert, ready and waiting for something. Them.

  “They know we are here,” Emerii whispered.

  “No point in turning back,” Royce added. “They’ve known our general location for some time, and the patrols will be circling behind us.”

  Artowen’s eyes reflected in the last light of day. “Our only way is to move forward, but there are far too many to fight.”

  “Any chance we could trick them? Or turn them away?” Royce’s question was aimed at Mav.

  “If my traveling with you all didn’t already give it away, they will realize from the first few words out of my mouth that I am a slave born and raised in the Dradris Kingdoms with only a tentative connection to the Territories. I’m in as much danger as all of you.”

  Lady Idwyn sighed, staring onward with an uninterested expression. “Mav’s presence was a beacon, letting them know our identity as their targets. It will do us little good to sit here talking all night. We can’t sneak by; there is some deity detecting us, I know that for certain. The least we can do is talk first, but be prepared to run.”

  The Truthsayer stood and began walking toward the encampment. Mav followed without a trace of doubt in his step. This was the one person he could trust with anything.

  The soldiers standing guard gave no indication that their presence was unwelcome or a surprise. They strutted straight into the camp, and Lady Idwyn began addressing the leader in the language of the Territories. Mav knew a few words, but he had never learned enough to carry on a full conversation. He might be able to pick up a bit if he concentrated, but his mind was set on his escape plan.

  The leader barked a sudden laugh, which was followed by a cacophony of the surrounding soldiers. They leveled spears and slowly began to encroach.

  “Aunt Idwyn!” Artowen yelled.

  “Guard your own lives, Artowen, Mav. They will take me prisoner, but they seek your lives. I will be okay, even outlanders fear a Truthsayer’s curses.”

  As the Citizens approached, assured of victory by their numbers, Lady Idwyn launched an arrow suddenly, hitting the leader in the arm. The signal of the start of the battle. Emerii and Artowen dashed in front of Lady Idwyn. Royce began sowing chaos. None of that mattered to Mav.

  A lighted path, despite the darkness. This was not his ability, but a skill he had long cultivated. That which made him the perfect royal runner. He could see the path to safety, the one that would lead him away from the fighting.

  Cold sweat streamed down the back of his neck, the putrid sensation running through his body as he sprinted. The dexterity and precision of control allowed him to weave through the battlefield even as spears sought his blood.

  More soldiers and a makeshift barricade lay ahead. It did not matter as he used his spear as a pole, plunging it firmly into the ground and launching himself above anything that could worry him, into the darkening tree line, and to safety.