Before she left in the morning, Wren went to visit her father.

It was not a visit in the normal sense, of course, in that Nighthawk Wind Dancer could not speak to her, or even hear a word that she said. He remained frozen in a block of ice, just as he’d been since Eila tär Väinis had cast her spell. Rather than transported as a prisoner, he’d been hauled in a wagon, across the high desert and to the waystone at Feic Seria, arriving with the third wave of wounded, late in the evening.

They’d put him in the armory, the small room at the back of the stone barracks, where the castle guards stored their arms and armor when they weren’t on duty. As a location, it had the advantage of, first, being a place that was constantly surrounded by trained and armed men, and secondly, on the ground floor, preventing any need to haul the immense block of ice up or down stairs. That was a task that would likely have either required magic, or Ghveris’s immense strength.

Someone had tossed a horse-blanket over the ice. Perhaps, Wren thought, they’d found it disturbing, to see a frozen man staring up at them. She reached out, took hold of the rough blanket, and yanked it aside, letting it fall to the ground.

The ice was not entirely clear. If Wren remembered what Liv had told her, while they’d been at Coral Bay together for more than a year, and the girl had spent her days immersed in magical theory and technique, that came from the speed with which the ice had formed. Parts of it were cloudy and opaque, nearly white, and even where it was mostly clear, there was an element of distortion.

Still, she could see her father’s face.

Nighthawk Wind Dancer did not look as if he was sleeping – he looked as if he’d been preserved mid-struggle. The muscles of his neck were tensed and strained, his jaw clenched in the struggle to break free. The worst was that his eyes were open. Open, angry, and still colored an unnatural, deep red.

“I’m sorry we haven’t killed her yet,” Wren murmured. She glanced back over her shoulder, through the armory door and into the barracks itself, where some of the cots were filled with sleeping guards, even now. Then she turned back to her father.

“I wonder whether we’d be able to let you out, if she was dead.” It was a question Wren had considered since she’d abandoned Ractia’s cause during the raid on Soltheris. She reached out and put a hand on the ice, but she was only able to hold it there for a moment before the cold drove her away. She wasn’t Liv.

“They’re going to take you into the north.” Wren knew that her father couldn’t hear her, but she said the words anyway. “You’re going to be judged by the alliance, whatever that ends up looking like. I’m supposed to bring three members of the tribe to be part of it. They’re going to judge me too, but Liv claims she has it handled.”

It was impossible not to feel a twinge of fear at that – at the idea of surrendering control over her own life. Then again, it wasn’t as if Wren hadn’t already made this choice once before. When she’d come south to Whitehill, she’d known that she might not survive giving warning of Ractia’s return. Liv had spoken for her then, and Wren trusted that her friend would do it again.

“Of course, I did a lot less than what you’ve done.” Wren sighed. “I stole a statue and shot a single arrow. I’d like to think everything I’ve gone through since then has gone a ways toward making up for those things. But you fought for her right up to the end. I don’t even know how many people you’ve killed, Father.”

“Once I go, I’m not sure when I’ll actually have a moment with you again,” Wren admitted. Would they wake him up to speak, when they judged him? Would she be permitted to talk to her father alone? She wasn’t certain.

Wren leaned down and pressed her lips to the ice over her father’s forehead, very quickly. She didn’t want to get herself stuck, after all – but she also didn’t want to leave him without saying goodbye.

“I love you,” she whispered, and then turned around and walked out of the armory, through the barracks and past the cots, and then out into the morning sun. Ghveris was waiting for her in the courtyard, along with Miina and three saddled horses.

“Are you prepared to go?” her friend asked. His voice rumbled and steamed, and his armored plating, freshly cleaned and oiled after the battle at Nightfall Peak, reflected the sunlight overhead. Not for the first time, Wren wondered what Ghveris had looked like before he’d been sealed inside that armor. Had he been handsome, or plain? She imagined him rugged: tall, solid, with the form of a skilled soldier who’d fought many battles. But she didn’t know what color his eyes had been, or how he’d looked when he’d smiled.

“I’m ready.” Wren nodded, took the reins of her horse, and swung up into the saddle. “I’d rather fly, but I suppose this will do.”

Miina hoisted herself up into her own saddle, and together the three of them turned toward the castle, where Liv, Keri, Arjun and the rest had come out to see them off. Sidonie, dressed to travel, hurried out of the castle with the most absolutely stuffed full saddlebags that Wren had ever seen, skimming along at waist-height on a disc of blue mana. Two of the castle guards hurried over to take the luggage from her and secure it properly on her mount.

“I hope that you can make it in time,” Liv said, walking close enough to speak with the riders. It had been weeks since Wren had seen her wearing anything but her armor and a helm, the entire time that they’d been in Varuna. Even during the brief expedition to the Tomb of Celris, they’d dressed for an unexpected assault - and for the cold. Now, surrounded by the stone walls of Castle Whitheill and all of the guards, Liv wore only a dress of pale blue fabric and white embroidery. Wren knew that the stormwand sheathed at her friend’s hip, and the silver circled on her brow, were more than enough to keep her safe in Whitehill.

“It’ll be difficult,” Wren admitted. “Honestly, my thought is to leave Ghveris and Miina at the bridge, so that we can fly. That will be faster than using canoes, even going downriver.”

“I trust you to get it done however you feel best,” Liv said. “Just bring them. If we’ve left before you get back, Miina should be able to see you to the Hall of Ancestors.”

“I’ve been there before,” the blue-haired Elden woman assured them. “It won’t be a problem.”

“Look for us near Houses Syvä and Däivi,” Keri said, stepping up at Liv’s side. Wren could tell that he was still using the walking stick to support himself, but he seemed steady enough.

Miina nodded. “Not among the unconquered. I know where my family usually sets up.” She grinned. “Make sure you all don’t stay here too long, or we’ll be there before you.”

Once Sidonie was in her saddle, they turned and headed for the gate. Wren looked back once, and raised her hand in a wave, which was returned by the friends they were leaving behind. Then, they were out of sight, left behind as the paved street led Wren and the other riders down, down out of The Hill and into The Lower Banks. Before a bell had passed, they were riding north along the mine road to Bald Peak, with Ghveris easily pacing the horses.

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☙

Sidonie didn’t join them on the waystone; she would see herself to Feic Seria, where she could meet up with all of the troops – including the wounded, and the healers – who weren’t ready to move out and leave Varuna yet. From there, she’d be able to pick up an escort across the high desert to Nightfall Peak. It would have been even easier if Ractia hadn’t destroyed the waystone on her way out.

Wren and Ghveris, on the other hand, waited while Miina activated the sigil for the bridge. The Eld’s first foothold in Varuna remained a military encampment, and Kerian guards surrounded the stone, visible as soon as the light of passage faded. It was only just dawn, and there were still torches burning to light the camp.

It was Miina who stepped forward, which was something of a relief to Wren. “The council of elders is inviting representatives of the Red Shield Tribe to join us at the Hall of Ancestors,” she explained, as she left the white stone. “Wren Wind Dancer and Ghveris of Iuronnath have been asked to carry that invitation to them.”

“I will remain here,” Ghveris announced, turning to Wren. “We are agreed. In the jungles, without the ability to change form, I would only slow you down.”

Wren hesitated, then took a step right up to Ghveris, nearly touching his armored torso, where she could look up into his eyes and speak softly enough for only him to hear. “Are you absolutely certain? They’re your people, too. You haven’t really been home in – well, since you woke up.”

Ghveris reached out and folded Wren’s hand in his own, much larger gauntlet. Not many things made Wren feel small, but he did. “There will be time,” the ancient war-machine rumbled. “And I will meet some of them when you return here. Fly swiftly.”

Wren nodded. When Ghveris released her hand, she shifted into bat form and turned east, beating her wings for height.

She flew all through the day, following the course of the Airaduinë downriver from the lake and the dam, through the jungle. It was the easiest landmark to use, while she was above the canopy, other than the sun.

Wren made good time, but she didn’t push herself as she had done when she was racing to get back to Liv and the others and meet them in the Tomb of Celris. When she was tired, she stopped to rest, roosting in one of the trees that provided her shelter above the forest floor. When she was thirsty, she swooped down to the river, and drank from one of the tributaries that emptied into it, always choosing a place where the water ran fast and clear over rocks and stones.

In the evening, she took the form of a cougar, and hunted. A peccary, or queixada, in the tongue of the Red Shields, provided her with both fresh meat, and hot blood; she would be able to go on the rest of the way on that meal alone. Because she wasn’t forcing herself to cover ground as quickly as the last time, it took Wren four days to make it to where the terrain began to change. How long it would have taken by foot, even using the river, she couldn’t say. Weeks, perhaps.

She knew she was coming near Clear Water Cenote when the forest became noticeably more dry, and when the flowering underbrush gave way to grass. When Wren saw smoke rising from the village, she gave silent thanks that the tribe hadn’t moved since the last time she’d come. Once, those thanks would have been a prayer to Ractia; now, they were simply a habit, out of relief.

A pulse of sound from the sentries greeted her, and Wren returned it, then dropped down to the ground, taking her human form and landing with her boots in the grass. She kept her hands away from her knives while she waited to be recognized – but she needn’t have bothered.

Blossom careened into her, the girl’s arms wrapping around Wren’s waist.

“Auntie Wren!”

“Hello, there,” Wren said, and couldn’t help but grin. There had been a part of her that had worried Ractia might send her servants here, to take some sort of revenge on those who had turned their backs on her. It would have been foolish, with an army at her door, but still, Wren hadn’t been entirely certain until just that moment. She embraced her cousin’s daughter, then picked the little girl up and swung her around once before setting her back on her feet.

By the time that was done, a dozen members of the tribe had gathered around. Wren recognized Condor, and then her cousin Calm Waters had rushed in to give her another hug. Soaring Eagle was next, and Wren even caught sight of Wildcat and Little Crow, hovering just at the edge of the crowd, obviously uncomfortable, and unable to decide whether to greet her or to sneak away.

“Are you back for good, this time?” Calm Waters asked.

“I wish that I was,” Wren said. It was easy to slip back into her native language, even after so long away. “No, I’m not – but I have news. A lot of news. And you’re going to have to make a few decisions,” she told Soaring Eagle.

“Come and sit, then. Have you eaten?”

“I killed a queixada along the way,” Wren told him. “But nothing since then.”

“Come along, then,” her cousin said, taking Wren by her hand and leading her over to a cookfire, where several game birds roasted on a single spit, set end to end and stuffed with a mix of grains and fruits. Calm Waters sliced off a generous portion of meat, and Wren told her story in between bites and mouthfuls of water.

It took hours - to relate what had happened at the Tomb of Celris, and then the plan to use the painted desert as a forward base while handling the war between Lucania and Whitehill. The fighting around the pass, and then the alliance’s attacks on three more rifts in Varuna, while the main army fought its way up Nightfall Peak, through ward after ward, to the very heights where Ractia herself took the field. By the time Wren had finished, the sun was setting and the air was growing cool.

“You all actually fought the Great Mother,” Wildcat said, shaking his head. “I can hardly believe it. And she ran away?”

“I hardly fought her,” Wren admitted. “That was mostly the Eld. And I don’t think she would have fled if it wasn’t for Liv casting that spell.”

“Still,” Soaring Eagle said. “Even that is a victory. The sort of victory I don’t think most of us would have ever dared to hope for.”

“You’ve mentioned a man named Ghveris several times now,” Calm Waters said. Blossom sat in her lap, gnawing at her own cut of meat. “That’s not a name I recall from the last time you were here.”

“No.” Wren hesitated. “Whoever comes back with me will meet him.”

Soaring Eagle and Calm Waters exchanged a glance. “Comes back with you?”

Wren nodded. “We’ve captured my father, and taken as many of those who served Ractia prisoner as we could,” she explained. “We managed to convince the Eld that our people should have a voice in what happens to them. The Red Shield Tribe is invited to send three people to the alliance council. Whoever it is will have to leave with me, as soon as we can. We need to get to the bridge rift. We have someone waiting there to activate the waystone, and guide us to where the meeting is. I’ve never been to the place, myself.”

“They invite us to speak, despite the fact we refused their alliance?” Calm Waters asked, and Wren nodded her head. “I think this is a sign of respect, my love. I don’t see how we can refuse it.”

Soaring Eagle scowled. “I do not like the idea of going across the great ocean,” he admitted. “To lands that are cold and unfamiliar.” His wife reached for his hand, and took it in hers. “But you are correct. It would be an insult to refuse. Valtteri will be there?”

Wren nodded. “And his daughter.”

“He seemed a good man – and those with him. We can only bring three?”

“Three to speak on the council,” Wren explained. “But you can bring family and hunters. From what I understand, it’s common for the Eld to bring their children along.”

Soaring Eagle stood up, and paced before the fire. “And they pledge our safety?”

“No one is allowed to bring weapons. But after Ractia’s people attacked them last time they gathered there, I expect they’re going to be very, very careful about posting sentries and scouting the area,” Wren told him. “I would, in their place. And it’s not like our hunters can’t fight without weapons.”

“There aren’t so many of us left, Wren,” Soaring Eagle admitted. “How many captives are there, to be judged?”

“Seventeen hunters, and my father,” Wren told him.

“Which means we need to bring enough people that they will not outnumber us,” her cousin’s husband decided. “If we can convince the Eld and the humans to turn them over to us, rather than kill them. We need to be certain we can bring them back here without any trying to escape, and return to Ractia.”

“I don’t think any of them know where she’s gone,” Wren pointed out. “But I suppose I left before they could be properly questioned. Who do you want to send back with me?”

“Everyone.” Soaring Eagle opened his arms wide and turned, indicated the fire, the people sitting around it, and the village beyond. “We will bring the entire tribe, rather than split ourselves. I could not leave enough hunters here to ensure the safety of our families, not and bring the people I will need to handle captives. I will trust in your judgment of your allies, Wren. I only hope they do not disappoint you, for they will have the fate of our entire people in their hands.”