The Dawning of Power

Chapter 4

In times of rapid change, those who do not adapt, perish. -Emrold Barnes, historian

As Catrin approached the leather shop, staying hidden in the shadows, the hair on the back of her neck stood, and a bead of sweat slid down her face. Instincts warned of a trap. Trying to decide if she could trust Mala, she looked at her tattered garments and decided to take the risk. Benjin waited outside town with the wagon, and if she did not return soon, he would come looking for her.

With a deep breath, she entered, and Mala gave a start, her eyes flitting to the back of the shop. "Welcome, m'lady," she said loudly. "I'm just putting a few stitches in the last pair of leggings. Only a moment I'll be. You can try those on for size while you wait."

Catrin pulled the jacket on, and it was a good fit. From the corner of her vision, she saw a figure dart out the back of the shop-the cobbler, she presumed. The boots were ready for her on the counter, and she quickly put them on. The fit was remarkably good, and she complimented his work.

"The man has a gift," Mala said without a hint of a smile, and again she glanced at the back of the shop.

"I cannot wait any longer. I must be going. I'll take those as they are," Catrin said, and she jumped as the cobbler returned. The shopkeeper just continued to sew. The two exchanged a glance, and Catrin nearly bolted.

"Ah, yes. 'Boots. Two days.' I see you've tried 'em on. How do they fit?" the cobbler asked.

"They fit just fine. Thank you. I really must be going now. You can keep that pair if they are not yet finished," Catrin said, grabbing what was ready and turning to leave.

"No. That won't do. Here. These are finished now," the woman said, and she gave Catrin a sack to carry everything in. Catrin thanked her as she backed toward the door. Though there was no visible sign of danger, she ran all the way back to where Benjin waited.

"I'm not certain, but I think someone is coming after us."

"Let's go," Benjin said, and they were soon moving as fast as they could, given their burdens. Heading north and west, they hoped to intercept Madra, but as the sun was sinking low on the horizon, there was no sign of the army.

With a growing gap between themselves and town, Catrin began to feel safer, but she did not relax completely. The snap of a branch in the distance brought her to full attention, and she scanned the nearby trees. Nothing moved.

"I'll watch what lies ahead," Benjin said. "You keep your eyes on the road behind us and the trees. If we're attacked, let the horse go and follow me to the trees. Got it?"

"Got it," she replied, holding on as he urged their horse for more speed.

Just as shadows covered the land, they came, swift as the wind, as if sprung from the abyss. One moment Catrin was watching the trees, the next she was ducking under a whistling blade. Benjin was not as quick, and he cried out. Two shadowy silhouettes passed them and spun around, preparing to make another charge. Catrin quickly turned to Benjin. He was holding his side, and there was blood on his shirt, but his other hand was steady and gripping a sword. He made no move toward the trees. Wishing she'd brought her staff, Catrin opened herself to the power and prepared to fight.

When the riders approached again, Catrin was ready. Using all her senses, she cast out about her, searching for energy sources. The air was filled with raw energy, but most of it was disorganized; positively charged particles simply canceled out nearby negatively charged particles. Catrin knew, though, that she could extend her field of influence and gather like particles to build up a massive charge. Then, just as she could blow out a candle by expelling air from her lungs, she could use the air to conduct her gathered charge. With her hands held high, she hurtled a bolt of energy at one rider. Like lightning, it arced from her fingers and struck with a crack. The charging horse leaped sideways, crashing into Catrin and knocking her from the cart. She hit the ground only a breath before her attacker. He remained mostly still, his leather armor blistered and smoking.

As she pulled herself up, she heard Benjin grunt as he, too, was thrown from the cart. The man she'd unhorsed was getting up, and her use of power had left her trembling. Unsure if she could deliver another blow without passing out, she ran toward him and, doing as she'd seen Benjin teach Chase, delivered a powerful kick to the startled man's jaw. His head jerked sideways, and he crumpled to the ground.

Behind her, Catrin heard hooves approaching at high speed, and she turned to see the other rider bearing back down on Benjin. After dropping his sword, Benjin drew his belt knife and threw. It sailed, end over end, and the handle struck the rider in the face with a solid thunk. Benjin unhorsed him as he passed, and he hit the ground with a thud and a sickening crunch. He was dead when Catrin and Benjin reached him. Catrin's kick had left the other man unconscious and bleeding.

"How badly are you hurt?" Catrin asked.

"He nicked me a couple of times, but I'll be fine. I just have to keep my right arm down to stop the bleeding. Can you catch the horses?"

"I think so," Catrin said, her legs still trembling. "What do we do with him?"

"Leave him," Benjin said, wincing. "Catch the horses and get me to the camp. I need stitches, and I can't do this one myself."

The three horses were surprisingly easy to catch, and the two the men had been riding-both fillies-seemed very familiar with one another, giving Catrin no trouble. After tying them to a tree, she gathered what had fallen from the wagon and reloaded it; then she helped Benjin into the seat. With his free hand, he held a lead line that Catrin hooked to the fillies' halters, and Catrin drove the wagon, trying to avoid the many ruts and obstacles along the way.

Eventually, the light of the campfires led them to the army, and they were greeted by the sentries' swords.

"Hold!"

"It's Benjin and Catrin returned and wounded," Benjin barked, and a host of people rushed to assist them. Madra insisted on stitching Benjin's side herself, saying it was worse than he'd made it out to be. Meanwhile, Catrin told their tale to the crowd of expectant faces around her.

The addition of two fine horses to their stock and the wagon full of food were received with wonder, and this act seemed to finally break down the barrier of fear between these people and Catrin. Those who had shied away from her glance some weeks ago now gathered around her.

"This is taking too long," Jensen said as he watched the second new building take shape. "Half of us are going to freeze t'death if we don't do something."

"That's exactly what the Masters are hoping for, I think," Wendel said. Still weak from his wounds, he was overwhelmed by frustration. If he were fit to walk, he would have already found the underground lake. Now he had to look to Jensen and the others to do most everything for him. He felt of no use at all.

The men from the Greatland proved to be quite skilled; Martik, in particular, had an excellent mind for practical building techniques. His skills were useless, though, without materials. Wendel and many others despised the idea of clear-cutting forestlands; they were simply too precious. Individual trees were being selected and cut down in a way that left the forest intact, but the process consumed equally precious time.

"We may be able to use rock," Martik said.

"Might be able to quarry it," Jensen said, "but moving it'll be tough."

"We have seven horses?" Martik asked.

"Six that are sound," Wendel said.

"I have some ideas about ways to move very heavy things," Martik said. "I could get the rock moved. Perhaps we should settle near a good quarry site?"

"How much weight do you reckon you could move?" Wendel asked.

"With six horses and ten men, I could drag a warship up here."

"Come with me," Wendel said. "I have an idea."

As dawn cast long shadows across the camp, most were just rising, but the sound of pounding hooves brought many to attention. Madra and another rider had been out scouting, and they were racing back. A crowd gathered, and people scrambled to secure Madra's mount as she dismounted before the filly even stopped.

"Mounted troops coming. Northeast. Prepare yourselves," Madra said, and her words spawned a flurry of activity. What had been a sluggish and awakening camp turned to a determined rush. "They looked like the Kytes' men, but I'm not certain."

Not long after, fifty mounted men poured onto the field at a leisurely pace. At their head rode the youngest grandson of Arbuckle Kyte, Catrin's betrothed, and she still didn't know his name. Millie was not far away, and Catrin went to her side. "What's his name?" she whispered into the suspense-filled air.

"You don't know his name? Shame on me. Shame on you. His name is Jharmin Olif Kyte, and he doesn't look happy."

Catrin turned back to him, and when he saw her, a nimbus of power appeared around him, outlining his form in undulating waves of light, like flames. Madra came to Catrin. "We must go meet with him."

"Perhaps it would be better if you went alone," Catrin replied. "He's not fond of me."

"Be that as it may, you must come, unarmed. He knows you're here, and he'll undoubtedly demand an audience with you."

Leaving her staff and knife with Benjin, Catrin walked beside Madra, a sour feeling in her stomach. All the mounted men behind Jharmin were intimidating, but it was Jharmin who posed the greatest threat, despite the fact that he, too, was unarmed. The skin on Catrin's throat itched, as if remembering his fiery touch.

"I had reports of an army on my lands, and now I find the Herald Witch leading a travesty that soils our fields. What makes you think you can cross Lankland without my permission?"

Despite his insults, Catrin chose to remain cordial. "I don't lead this army, and they do not follow me. Our paths are merely the same at the moment."

Jharmin made a noise in his throat and rolled his eyes. "So who does lead this mockery of an army?"

"I do. I am Madra of Far Rossing, one of your former subjects," Madra said without a hint of courtesy.

"Former?"

"Quite. At one time, your family protected the land and our people, but then you surrendered to the Zjhon. You've been little more than puppets since."

"How dare you speak to me that way, peasant! I should send you back to the hovel you came from," he said, the nimbus around him expanding.

"Please," Catrin said. "There has been enough bloodshed. Now is not the time for fighting. What this land needs is peace and leadership so that it can be rebuilt. A battle today will do nothing but reduce the number of able-bodied people available to do that rebuilding. Would you send your homeland into ruin?"

"Silence, witch. Your evil tongue cannot poison our minds."

"You call her a witch, yet if it were not for her, you would be dead," Madra said.

"Lies and tricks. The Herald Witch makes people believe she's come to save them when all she's done is kill the good people of the Greatland. I don't know exactly how she caused the other statue to explode, but I was in no more danger within Adderhold than I am right now," Jharmin said, looking smug.

"You're an arrogant fool," Madra said as she turned to walk away.

"I want you off my lands by nightfall, and you're never to return-any of you," Jharmin said, his face growing redder as the conflict wore on.

"You'll have to kill us all, then," Madra said. "You can kill your own subjects. I won't stop you. I can only imagine, though, how all those young people in the Zjhon armies will feel when they find out you killed their parents and children."

"Don't mock me, woman. I'm the protector of my people. It is you that poses a threat, and it's my responsibility to protect Lankland from you."

Madra tilted her head back and laughed a harsh, barking laugh. "Kill us, and there'll be fewer left to protect, m'lord. But have it your way. My army goes where I lead it, and I'll leave your lands when I am good and ready. If you wish to fight, then let us be done with it and fight now. What do you say?"

"I say you travel with the Herald Witch, and that makes you my enemy."

"What did I ever do to you?" Catrin asked, no longer able to contain her anger.

"Beside the fact that your family has been killing my family and people for over a hundred years? How about pretending you would marry me just so you could attack Archmaster Belegra."

"I went to Adderhold willing to marry you if that was what it took to save people's lives. You can believe what you want about me and about the statues; I'll not try to change your mind. But do remember that your family has been killing my family for just as long. I know since you killed my mother and both my aunts in a most cowardly fashion," Catrin said, becoming more incensed with each word.

Jharmin appeared genuinely surprised by the accusations and simply stood with his mouth open for a moment. "I don't know what you are talking about."

"That's just how his grandfather wants it," Madra said.

"Silence!" Jharmin said, glaring.

"Jharmin, please," Catrin said, trying desperately to avoid violence. "If you say you knew nothing of their deaths, then I believe you, but you must also understand that I've had no knowledge or involvement in what my family has done here in the Greatland. I grew up on the Godfist. This is all new to me, and I don't know how to fix it, but I'm certain fighting isn't the answer."

Jharmin stood silent, apparently considering her words, but just when he was about to speak, there was a shout from his men. Catrin turned to look where a man pointed. Above the rolling hills, a waving pennant rose, showing Istra and Vestra in their immortal embrace. Soon the standard bearer then the body of the Zjhon army came into view. Row upon row of mounted riders approached, followed by orderly columns of foot soldiers. In the distance the supply wagons were barely visible.

Catrin and Madra looked at Jharmin. "You two had best go prepare yourselves," he said; then he went back to his men.

"What are we going to do?" Catrin asked as she and Madra walked back to camp and the awaiting sea of worried faces. Only the underlying determination on those faces kept Catrin from despairing. These people would die fighting if they had to. Catrin hoped it didn't come to that.

"This is what we came for," Madra said. "Although having the Kytes here makes things more interesting, we'll do what must be done," she said, and she turned to her soldiers. "Stand at attention. Show no fear. If I say attack, attack, but until then, do nothing."

The next few moments passed slowly, like the mire of dreams, and Catrin watched events unfold with detached indifference, as if it were not real. It was too strange to be real. She and Madra walked together but apart, Jharmin came from another direction, and a swaggering, older man came from yet another. "State your intentions," he said, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Jharmin Kyte, grandson of Arbuckle-"

"I know who you are. State your intentions."

Jharmin looked shaken, and Catrin was amazed no one else could see the flames that leaped higher around him as his fury grew, but it was obvious they could not.

"I came to investigate reports of an army on my lands," Jharmin said, "and a report that two local guards had been killed," he said, glaring at Catrin. She considered responding but decided to keep her mouth shut.

"I have orders to bring in the Herald Witch," the man said. "We have no need for your services. You're dismissed."

Jharmin's flames soared and danced around him, and his face flushed. "I must insist that you not do battle on these lands. I will remain to see that the people of Lankland are not made to suffer."

"So be it, pup. Stay if you want, but stay out of my way or you might accidentally fall on my sword." Not waiting for a response, he turned to Catrin. "You will surrender immediately, otherwise we'll kill you all. You," he said, turning to Madra, "will go away."

Madra wasn't looking at him, though, and she did not react to his statement. Instead, she scanned the Zjhon lines. Suddenly she gave a start. "Medrin, Chelby, attend me!" she shouted across the distance. The Zjhon commander turned slowly, and he flushed as two horses separated from his lines.

"Shoot anyone that deserts!" the commander shouted. The two riders continued forward, and Catrin gasped at the twang of a bowstring. One rider ducked under the arrow, and a scuffle broke out in the Zjhon lines. One of the men in Jharmin's army stepped forward and called out another name then another. Behind Catrin, men and women called to their children.

Soon nothing could be heard over the din. More and more riders and those on foot began to leave the Zjhon lines, their loyalty to their families far stronger than their fear of death. The Zjhon commander, who'd not even been courteous enough to give his name, now found himself faced with a flood of defectors. Those still loyal fought to join together and rally, but that number was shrinking rapidly. When the dust settled, Madra's army was by far the largest, with Jharmin's not far behind. The Zjhon commander suddenly found himself faced with superior force.

Jharmin made no move and said nothing; he just stood with his arms crossed over his chest and stared at the Zjhon commander. Catrin knew the danger was not yet averted. A battle between Jharmin's and Madra's armies would lead to horrific casualties, and she had not yet counted the Zjhon out of the equation. When she made up her mind, she could only hope that her actions would not lead to a bloodbath.