When Ravens Call: The Fourth Book in the Small Gods Epic Fantasy Series (The Books of the Small Gods by Bruce Blake (ebook reader with highlight function TXT) 📕

midday heat. He'd watched the sun rise and set but a handful of times since his arrival, yet every warrior showed marked improvement, even from the impressive skill levels they already exhibited.

If only the kingdom's soldiers learned their skills with such ease and speed.

Truthfully, he'd have put any of the twenty-four women handpicked to prepare for a mysterious mission up against any man in the king's legion. And many of the dozens of other Goddess warriors, too. With the army of the king made up of these fighters, he'd worry little of wars being lost. How and why this battalion existed troubled him almost as much as the fact they'd kept it a secret.

Trenan didn't move when he detected the sound of loose dirt crunching beneath boot soles. But one person dared interrupt during training.

"They only wear their armor after dusk, Yoli. I can't talk them into wearing it while the sun is out."

"And they will not while they are readying." A measure of the derision and annoyance present in her tone when they first met had disappeared, but not all of it. "Goddess wants them to be familiar with wielding their weapons under any circumstance."

He'd already known her response—they'd discussed this more than once. The concept made good sense, and he wondered if he fought against it the way he did because he never considered training his own soldiers in the same manner. Differences existed between swinging a sword in full armor or in none.

"How is Dansil?" he asked out of duty rather than concern.

"Your man will live if Goddess desires it."

He nodded, part of him wanting to ask for more detail. Many, including himself, might find the world a better place if the Goddess decided she desired his death. He opened his mouth to say this, then closed it again, choosing to keep his disdain to himself.

"You have no love for this fellow," Yoli said as if he'd spoken his thoughts.

"We have never been friends."

She snorted a laugh. "Is this what you men call it when another plots your death?"

"How did you—?"

"Goddess has told us much about you, but no matter. How are the warriors faring under your guidance?"

"They're coming along." He stole a glance her direction, awaiting her reaction to his statement, but her expression betrayed nothing. "They will be ready if this war you talk of comes."

"When it comes," she corrected. "But it's time for them to be ready now."

Trenan cocked an eyebrow at her but, as usual, she didn't direct her gaze toward him. She acted as though looking upon him caused her pain, so she avoided it. He realized he reacted to Ishla in a similar fashion, because seeing her bred distress in him, but he suspected Yoli guilty of it no matter what man stood beside her.

"The war hasn't come, but it's time to fight?"

"It is time for your part in this to begin."

The master swordsman clamped his jaw tight and breathed out through his nose. "I've spent too many sunrises and sunsets here. The princess' path grows colder with each morning and night the sun touches the horizon."

"Did I not say you will see Princess Danya again soon? Do you doubt the Mother of Death through whom Goddess speaks?"

"I don't know who this Mother of Death is. What I know is I must find the princess and return her to the king."

Yoli scuffed her feet in the dirt, impatient with the conversation. "You will find Danya—your role involves her."

"What role?" he demanded, his hand curling into a fist. "What is this you keep speaking of? And how does it involve her?"

She didn't respond at once, and he knew she meant this to torture him. Given her way, they'd never have admitted him beyond the walls, but the decision wasn't hers. The fact didn't require her to act as though she enjoyed his company, however. He resisted the urge to ask again.

"You leave in the morning," she said, pivoting on the heels of her boots. "Make sure your chosen warriors are ready."

He waited as she strode toward the door at the side of the training yard, allowing her a few steps before he spoke again.

"Leave? For where?" he called after her. "What if I refuse to go?"

She stopped, paused, then faced him.

"You won't. In the morning, your journey continues as you desire. With the rising of the sun, you depart for the Green."

***

Although nothing but the sun's leading edge peeked above the horizon and the City of the Sick yet lay in darkness, Trenan found his warriors already assembled when he arrived. Each of them sat their horses with the confidence bred of repetition, equipment and supplies lashed to their saddles. It pleased the master swordsman to find them clad in the armor they'd worn during their evening training rather than bare-chested.

The two dozen warriors didn't mill about. They engaged in no conversation, and none of them fidgeted with their gear or allowed their steeds to dance nervously. Trenan doubted he'd ever seen a more precise and controlled line of fighters in all his time. Despite the effort they'd put in, the fighter in him wondered how the untested soldiers might fare on the battlefield. Wooden swords and a practice yard were one thing, but the chaos of actual battle was something different. Nothing truly prepared a soldier for fight-to-the-death combat. And would it make any difference they were women? With no precedent, he possessed no way to know.

He led his horse to stand in front of them, visible to every rider.

"Is everyone ready?"

They nodded in unison, but no one spoke. Other than grunts of strain and the very occasional cry of pain, he'd not yet heard any of them utter a word. He didn't know whether they lacked the capability of speaking or chose not to