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) 📕

"Fellick and Ive are the foremost weapons merchants in the Windward Kingdom. You cannot be them. Why kidnap the prince and princess if you are?"

"You flatter us, sir," Ive called from his place near Danya. She appeared to cringe at the sound of his voice in her ear. "But we are the men of whom you speak. I believe we provided you a sword once. Not the one you wield today, but a lovely hunk of metal, nonetheless."

Before Trenan replied, Fellick pounced. The master swordsman raised his blade in time, catching the blow. The clang of steel rang out, but he realized his opponent held back from striking with his full force and strength. Instead, he manipulated the attack, so he ended up with his face near Trenan's ear.

"Have you not seen the fire in the night sky?" he whispered, breath hot on Trenan's neck. "More is at work here than you understand."

Trenan jerked away, pulling himself from his opponent's grasp. He glared at the man, wanting to question what he meant; he'd watched the streaks of light crossing the sky, appearing to head for the ground, but care should he have for shooting stars? His mouth opened, intending to ask for an explanation, but Fellick attacked again, interrupting his intent. Their swords clanged together again and again. Each blow sounded vicious and likely created a convincing display, but they carried far less than the stocky man's full strength. Confused, Trenan defended himself but didn't counterattack.

Fellick's advance pushed him in a semicircle, turning him so he saw the complement of warriors who'd accompanied him from Ikkundana. Sun blazed on arms and armor of the women sitting their horses. They watched, awaiting any signal he needed their assistance. They'd stay thus, holding their ranks as he'd taught them, until he told them otherwise or the enemy forced their hand.

What's that?

Movement in the bush beside them, behind. A flash of black, then Fellick's attack turned him again, faced him away from his troops. His heart jumped into his throat; the women ranked among the best warriors he'd seen, but they remained untested. In his turns of the seasons training and teaching young soldiers how to fight, how many times did he see his most promising swordsman cut down by their initial adversary? How many froze or fled at the first drop of blood? No matter how confident he felt with anyone's ability, he couldn't guess their true mettle until their weapons tasted flesh, or steel kissed their skin.

Trenan took the fight to the stocky man, pushing him back toward the others to position himself to peer up the hill. A figure emerged from the brush, features hidden beneath a black cowl. He didn't appear to hold a weapon, though Trenan couldn't see his hands; the dark robe covered him from the top of his head to his feet. None of the warriors noticed him—the master swordsman needed to warn them.

He deflected Fellick's next blow, then launched a counterattack purposely taking him near the man. He intended to plant his hand against the fellow's chest and push him away, give himself enough room to signal his troop of the impending danger. Before he did, Fellick guessed his intent, caught him and pulled him close.

"Leave it be," he said, the words carried on a harsh whisper. "Everything about to happen must transpire."

Trenan stared into his face, pushed against him to break his grip, but he proved too strong. Realizing he couldn't escape the stocky man's grasp, the master swordsman tilted his head and hollered a warning.

"Yoli! Look out."

As soon as he spoke the words, Fellick released him. Trenan stumbled away and made what should have been a fatal mistake: he turned his back on his opponent. He didn't have to put thought to it to realize what he'd done, but the need to warn his warriors, to rush to their aid, caused his choice.

Other figures emerged out of the brush and trees around the riders, all clad in the same black robes, save one. Instead of attacking, they encircled the warriors, arms raised to the sides of their bodies. The women took notice of them at Trenan's warning and faced them, weapons poised to defend. They outnumbered the men three to one, but the sense of danger hanging in the air made it seem the opposite.

Before any of them moved, the pommel of Fellick's sword contacted the back of the swordmaster's skull. An instant of agony exploded through it, then the world slipped into darkness.

***

The master swordsman's eyelids fluttered open to find himself sprawled on the ground staring at blue sky. He turned his head to the left, cringed at the pain it caused. Beyond a set of legs—Ive's, he judged—grass carpeted the way to the shimmering emerald wall separating the Windward Kingdom from the wilds of the Green. He pushed himself up on his elbow, aware his sword no longer lay at hand.

The tall and spidery Ive occupied the space between him and the veil. On a log to his left sat Princess Danya and a young woman he didn't recognize, their hands bound, both of them unmoving. A short distance away, Fellick stood beside Teryk. The stocky man's own weapon rested in its scabbard but he held the crown sword loosely in his off hand. Trenan took this in briefly before redirecting his gaze.

The prince barely looked himself. In fact, if the master swordsman hadn't been with him since birth, he might not have recognized him. Fine reddish-blond whiskers well beyond being called stubble lined his jaw and upper lip, and his dirty, knotted hair hung longer than when last Trenan saw him. It suggested the passing of a much greater amount of time than had truly elapsed.

"Teryk?"

The prince's eyes flickered toward him, but