Page 19 of A Kiss of Hammer and Flame

He was making a break for the Wilds.

More and more arrows came raining down. With each bone-rattling impact, Cahra gripped anything stable as she slouched, ducking to keep her head clear of the wagon’s roof. Arrowheads burst through its wood with cacophonous cracks, lashing like the whips of the guards in Kolyath’s Red Square. She shook the thought away and focused on her enclosure, sighting six arrows in the hidden compartment alone, never mind the rest of Terryl’s wagon. Cahra lowered herself to the ground and wedged her body under the seat, knees whacking the floor as the coach and its cargo thundered urgently along.

With the war raging, would Kolyath dare follow them into the Wilds?

Gurgling cries pierced the air. She knew the sound of awful, human death throes. More cracks; wood splintering. Cahra’s heart railed against her ribs. Was Terryl’s carriage faring under the attack? Her stomach turned at what it might mean for their escape.

Listening intently, she found herself closing her eyes, concentrating even harder to hear, to sense. The thuds of arrows were slowing, Cahra noting the terrain was getting less rocky beneath the wagon’s thin wheels. When she hadn’t heard the sound of an arrow hitting its mark for a full few minutes, she stood gingerly, pausing near the peephole.

Another ten seconds, and it was like something swallowed up the light.

She felt the horses pulling Terryl’s transport slow to their previous walk. The ground seemed even again. Cahra dared to place her eye upon the peephole.

Outside, it was as dark as twilight, the Wilds’ majestic trees blocking the sun’s rays, though she could see fleeting specks of blue as she angled her gaze to the foliage’s ceiling. Yet shadows clung to every dark leaf, an unfathomably heavy air in the earthy-scented woodlands. Nature whispered between towering trunks, and she could almost feel it beckoning to her, this wild place untouched by ugly, selfish kingdoms. A place where maybe even she could survive.

Cahra continued gazing out the peephole until, finally, the wagon’s wheels stopped. The carriage doors slammed, and she threw on her shirt and coat, hurrying through the false panel to the wagon’s exit, anxious to learn her fate.

Had they made it? Were they safe?

The sparkle in Terryl’s blue goldstone eyes and the bright smile on his face reassured her as he opened the wagon’s double doors, and with a deep breath, she took her first step into a free but unknown future.

‘Welcome to the Wilds, Cahra.’

CHAPTER 9

Leaping from Terryl’s goods wagon, Cahra’s well-worn boots hit the ground with a jolt. She winced as pain erupted along her aching soles. It had been years since she’d bolted through Kolyath’s streets like that, let alone in her battered smith’s boots. Her feet would hurt for the rest of the day now, maybe longer. But it was a small fee to pay for freedom, she told herself, even if it hurt like Hael. She toed a few steps forward, gingerly, then shouldered her satchel.

Then she froze, her eyes meeting something even more shocking than escaping the Steward of Kolyath: men and women vanishing into the trees in droves, their weapons lowered, faces hidden and as mysterious as the land itself. Some stopped to talk to Raiden as he shared out thanks in the form of Terryl’s goods, and Cahra’s mouth fell wide open. The Wildspeople, who notoriously cared as little for the realm’s three kingdoms as the kingdoms did for them, had defended Terryl and his people? Why?

Before she could unravel the idea, Terryl broke in. ‘We made it,’ the lord breathed, gazing at the greenwood grove. He peered at her with concern. ‘Are you injured?’

Cahra shook her head, not wanting him to fuss. Instead, she drank in the raw, dark beauty of the Wilds, thick with shadow and the inexplicable hush of night. The sun’s rays seemed unable to penetrate the abundant canopy, yet greenery ran riot across vast swathes of the forest floor. It wasn’t grass but bracken, net-like vines and a furry array of mosses, which blanketed fallen branches and climbed the trunks of ancient elms that reached as if with arms to touch the sky. Cahra bent down, the moss damp and velvety beneath her fingertips, and something loosened just a little in her chest.

Terryl watched her, curiosity lighting his fine features.

‘Where are we?’ She inhaled, the fresh air sweet and lovely in her lungs.

‘A safe place to rest, for a time,’ he said softly.

Cahra straightened, stifling a yawn and leaning back against the wagon’s sturdy wood. The surge of energy from sprinting through Kolyath was dwindling fast.

‘They found us out,’ she mused aloud, eyes flickering to Terryl. ‘After the gate, I mean.’

‘It was always a possibility at the gatehouse, but it does not matter, now.’ He smiled. ‘We are under the cover of the Wilds.’

‘And no one’s following?’ She suppressed a shudder at the thought of the Steward’s guards, or the soldiers of his army, rounding a copse of trees and discovering them. Terryl’s own guards were noticeably absent.

‘Not that we can ascertain.’ Terryl glanced to Raiden, who was inspecting the arrows sticking out from the lord’s carriage and the wagon hitched to it, the one Cahra had been hiding in. She spotted the second coach and wagon, along with the horses belonging to Terryl’s guards and wondered who else made up this travelling caravan – but was quickly distracted by the sound of Raiden unsheathing a blade from his belt to sever the offending arrows with gusto.

‘Fear not,’ Terryl said, following her eyeline. ‘Kolyath would be crazed to follow us. They have a kingdom to defend.’ He gave her a wry look, then gestured to the Wildspeople.

The tightness in her chest loosened even further, and she stretched.

‘So now what?’ They’d never talked about what came after the escape, as there hadn’t been time. And while Terryl had kept his word and gotten her out of Kolyath, well, she didn’t like surprises.

‘First,’ he said, ‘Raiden’s people will examine the carriages and conduct any repairs. After which, I should like for you to join me. You and I have much to discuss.’

An invitation to a lord’s personal carriage. If they weren’t under the threat of capture, would she be flattered? She nodded, suddenly very interested in her boots.

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