Looking even smaller beside her tall grandfather, she clung to him, tears dripping down and falling off her chin.
“Grandfather, please...”
“Shhh... You know I only do my duty, sweet child. And if my life is ended this night, I count myself privileged to have watched you grow and bloom and use your gifts in selfless service.” He held her face between his gnarled hands. “You, my granddaughter, are my greatest joy. Live on to serve the Craedenza and the God who bestowed it until the time you are called to do the same.”
“Let me stand with you... beside you. I know I’m not oath-bound, but—”
“No! You mustn’t be anywhere near the foundation stone when the warriors attack. Promise me!”
The furrow between his brows deepened when she hesitated.
“I promise.”
He kissed her forehead, and she stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “I love you,” she said with a wobbly smile before turning to march across the square, a resolute set to her chin.
Raelene stopped Bastaeno before he could slip back into the crowd. “Where are the Stone Clan warriors? They should be here protecting you.” Raelene knew all four quite well after their lengthy journey to Glaenshire—two men and two women—as brave and devoted as any trained by Morvaen.
“I sent them away.” Bastaeno pressed a finger to her lips when she tried to question him further. “Only those who are oath-sworn to the Craedenza may have the honor of fighting on its foundation stone.”
“But—”
“Your warriors are charged with defending the citizens of Glaenshire, and they have done well to draw the wendt away. But the Craedenza is ours to protect.”
He gripped her shoulder when she started to protest again. “Trust me—our way is wise, though it may seem foolish to you.”
With a sad smile, he backed away, patting his heart with his hand, the Tenavae gesture for kinship. Nodding, Raelene returned the gesture, accepting his unspoken request that she would look after Meravelle if he lost his life in the battle to come.
Only if I survive to do so.
Crossing to join Meravelle, Raelene moved back against the wall on the covered porch, ready to dash inside should the wendt make a sudden appearance. The Craedenza guards stood with their backs to the entrance, facing the broad path where the drums
pounded louder and louder until the first rows of mounted warriors came into view. On they rode, their horses prancing forward and halting a few armspans away from the Craedenza guards.
From his central position on the front row, a gargantuan Water Clan warrior lifted his hand into the air, and the drums ceased. Raelene heard a ringing in her ears. Beside her, Meravelle reached out and took her hand, squeezing so hard the blood couldn’t circulate. Raelene gripped Mera’s hand in return, voicing a silent prayer.
His horse probably breathed a sigh of relief when the giant man slid to the ground. As his head turned, Raelene gasped at sight of his scarred face. His nose was distorted, permanently bent, and a jagged red mark extended from his temple to his jaw on one side, barely missing his eye. The other side of his face was crisscrossed in raised white lines, like so many threads.
Drawing his sword, the man pointed with it, his sweeping gesture indicating the entire crowd of fifty or more by Raelene’s estimation. When he spoke, his deep voice ground out, mimicking the groan of a milling wheel.
“You have witnessed the terror of the wendt. You see the warriors who stand ready to slay you where you stand. You may surrender now. Or all will die. The choice is yours.”
The Glaenshire defenders, a haphazard assortment consisting of both men and women of various shapes and sizes, some armed with blades that looked better suited for gardening, others without a weapon in hand, and most with white or graying hair, stood firm. Not a single one moved back even a finger-width.
Bastaeno pushed his way to the front of the group, his small blade still nesting in the scabbard secured about his hips. With his hands clasped loosely behind his back, only the flexing of his jaw revealed his tension. Drawing a deep breath, he blew the air out, and a benevolent smile lifted the corners of his mouth.
“Good sir, I believe you’re mistaken about what will transpire should you choose to carry through with this foolish attack.”
The Water Clan warrior stared with wide eyes, his slack mouth agape, displaying stained and broken teeth. Then he threw his head back and laughed, prompting all his warriors to join in the raucous cackling.
In the midst of the uproar, Raelene felt a tug on her sleeve.
“Raelene. Raelene, I have something for you... in here.”
Markaeus stood before her, holding up a mottled-green bag.
**************
A young boy’s voice drew Meravelle’s attention away from the drama unfolding in front of the Craedenza.