The Lioness

As he thought, Lady Sunstrike cast another glance at the king. He seemed to rouse, his lids lifted. He held the lady’s glance, only a moment She did not nod, and he did not look again her way, but in the morning a rider went out from the city, naught but a lad with a saddlebag full of missives from his mistress to her steward.

In two days time, Kerian of Qualinesti received from Jeratt the startling news that they had not fought alone in their last battle with Knights. Outnumbered, certain to be killed, Jeratt had looked up to find a dozen fresh, armed men and women at their backs. Rabble, ragged outlaws like themselves, or so they thought until, the last Knight dead, they learned that these were not men and women of the forest at all. They were farmers, two of them villagers, three from the estates of Lady Sunstrike who governed this stony eastern province, all dressed to appear the most disreputable of citizens.

They had little to say, but one, as the others drifted away into the forest, suggested to Jeratt that they would not again fight alone.

“Call on us,” he said. “I’m a stable boy on Lady Sunstrike’s estate. We hear she’s here, the lady who fights like a lioness. We know who she fights. If you call for help, we will come.”

Kerian had lost the faith of farmers who feared to lose their heads. She’d seen her network of trusty villagers fall to ruin. Here, unlooked for, she found a strand with which to reweave her rebellion of elves. Fighters at need, carriers of news, granters of shelter, these would support her and her warriors in her battle.

Kerian watched as Stanach came out of the passage through Lightning-Thunder, as he insisted on naming the falls—his hair and beard glistening with moisture, his clothing damp. The dwarf had been a patient prisoner—his word, not hers—and had done his duty at watch whenever required. He had never offered to go on raids, and no one asked. He was a king’s ambassador and Kerian made it clear from the start that Stanach had no part in this work.

Stanach stood watch, hunted with the others, in all ways did his duty in camp, but he was not a genial ambassador. He kept to himself, told no tales around the fire, and made no friends among the resistance. What he did was watch Kerian. He watched her plan, he watched her lure Thagol tins way and that, like a rough handler jerking a hound’s chain. He saw her make maps for her warriors when she planned, he saw her pacing all the while a band of them was gone, on her feet almost every moment till they returned.

When she mourned the dead, she did so feeling the eyes of the dwarf on her. They were not unkindly, but they were always on her.

Damn, she thought, he watches me eat!

For all she knew, he watched her sleep.

There he stood, wet from the falls, his eyes on her again.

“What?” she said.

Usually he shook his head and sometimes he muttered, “Nothing.” This time he nodded to her once, a jerk of his head, up and then down.

“Got company. Looks like a farmer to me.”

Curious, Kerian rose and bade Stanach show the farmer through. The dwarf was gone but a few moments before he returned with a wide-eyed, soaking lad. The boy’s name was Aran Leafglow, he said, and he was no farmer but a village lad. He jerked his head in a kind of bow, tugging at his forelock.

“Lady Lioness,” he said. “I come with news for you.”

Lady Lioness. Kerian caught Stanach’s grim smile out the corner of her eye. Her warriors liked the spreading name, so did the villagers and farmers. Thagol, from what she had learned, hated it, for the people rallied to it.

Thagol had made a mistake. He’d punished the elves widely for crimes they did not commit In rage he’d fallen on them with the fierceness of a dragon, unleashing his Knights and his draconians, trying to cow the countryside. He had pushed too hard.

“Give me your news,” Kerian said. “Sit and talk.”

The boy shook his head. “No’m. I can’t sit, for I have to get back and there’s all the gorge to travel. I come to tell you—there’s a pack of Knights near. You said you’d want to know. They’re not but beyond Kellian Ridge.”

Kerian drew a breath, long and slow and satisfied. “A pack. How many?”

“Five, no more. Armed to the teeth, though, and they have three draconians with them.”

Eight. She thanked the boy and sent him out through the falls. She called six outlaws to her, three down from the hills, and sent them out with word to gather in all the leaders of her scattered bands. Last she turned to Stanach, and she said, “It’s time now, Stanach Hammerfell. I’m going out to kill some Knights.”

His eyes grew wide. “You’re mad. You said yourself that the next time you kill you’ll draw Thagol to you like steel to a lodestone.”

“Yes,” she said, “and I’m going to do just that. He’s going to chase me right to the place where I will kill him.”

“Ach, lass, you’re mad.”