The Lioness

The Night People had begun to arrive into the glade like shadows, like night. Farmers and hunters, they knew how to move though the forest so stealthily that they could come upon a doe drinking and get within touching distance. None knew the forest better than these young men and women of the farms and dales. None had a stronger will to fight. They hated Lord Thagol, and they hated the Knights. They loathed the draconians, and here, away from city and the politics of keeping a kingdom whole for as long as possible, they wanted nothing more than to fight, to rid themselves of those who would steal their goods and gains, who would rob them of the dignity they considered a birthright.

“Listen,” Jeratt said into her musing. She looked up and saw he knew her thoughts. “He volunteered.”

Kerian nodded, knowing he spoke of Felan.

“He helped shape the plan.”

“Yes,” she said. “He did.”

“You didn’t send him to his death.” The word out, it hung between them. “You know him. You know why he insisted on going.”

Felan’s wife was childing, the news learned only weeks before. He had been, always, an enthusiastic rebel, happy to do anything for the cause or to pass along information from one farm to another, content to do whatever part came his way. The news of impending fatherhood, though, had fired him with passion. It was not a passion for the kingdom or a kindling at the flame of revenge. Felan wanted only to secure his child’s birthright.

He’d said, “I want my child to be able to walk this land as I did growing up. I want him to know that the forest and all its bounty are his, that what comes of this farm I will leave him—all of it!—will feed him and his own children. I want him to know who he is—a free elf, not the slave of a thieving dragon’s Knights. I’ll go beard the Skull Knight in his own den, if that’s what it takes.”

One after another now, her Night People drifted in. None spoke, not even to greet each other. Kerian took the count of them. There were now thirteen in the glade. Bayel went among them, clasping a hand, slapping a back, wordless greetings. She saw him lean close to a young woman, listening to whispered words. He nodded once, curtly, and came to sit beside Jeratt. He ripped a chunk off the loaf of coarse brown bread the half-elf offered.

“He’s dead.” He looked from Jeratt to Kerian. “Wael at the Waycross saw him die.”

“How?” Kerian asked, heart plummeting at the news.

“Skull Knight killed him.” Bayel looked away, then back. “Felan delivered the word, however, just like we planned. The Skull Knight took it, and Wael says he swallowed the bait grinning.”

“How?” Kerian said again. Her voice grew colder, harder.

Bayel shook his head, sad and sorry. “The Knight went in for a look, eh? Went into Felan’s mind to see if all he said was true. Wael says Felan held out, showed the bastard nothing to make him suspect we’re diverting his Knights into a trap while the most of us hit the wagons up the Qualinost Road. He let Thagol see nothing but what we wanted him to see.”

That broke him, body and mind.

Kerian looked around the glade. More warriors had arrived. She counted again. Twenty-five—no, twenty-eight. “How many Knights are coming?” she asked, distracted.

“Wael says just the usual detachment that hangs around the Waycross, no more than six. Maybe a draconian or two. Easy pickings. Maybe the Lord Knight himself if he thinks he’s going to cut off the head of us easy, eh?”

Maybe. Kerian hadn’t counted on it, but she had considered it and would have gotten great pleasure to find Thagol himself in her trap. She sat in silence for a while, thinking sadly of Felan’s sacrifice. There would be thirty-five of her warriors here before long. She looked hard at Bayel. “Tell me again—do you think the Skull Knight suspects nothing?”

“Kerian,” he said, gently. “You know Felan. He was a stout heart. He held out, for us, for his child, for the future of the kingdom. Six Knights, maybe a few draconians. They’re going to hit here in the dark hour before dawn. They think they’re going to take four heads back to Way-cross and start there what they’ve been doing in the capital. They’re ordering our heads piked so everyone around will know there is no point in resisting.”

Even so silent, twenty-eight warriors made the glade whisper with their breathing, their small motions. Kerian listened as she cast a glance at the sky. The moon had set, the stars shone brightly, but so thick was the canopy of trees that their light did little to illuminate the world far below. The forest would be deadly dark tonight. She sat forward, feeling Jeratt and Bayel draw closer. Bayel’s eyes shone in the firelight. Jeratt sat still as stone, a seasoned warrior preparing to do battle.

“Felan’s dead, something’s changed. I don’t know how, I just know it. I smell it.”

Bayel frowned, not understanding. Jeratt nodded, knowing well what she meant. You feel the danger, you heed the instinct, and you wonder what triggered it later. He winked at her and slapped her knee.