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  Lydia let out a low whistle. “Well, the Okbolds don’t directly serve the king, but when there’s a side to take, they all jump over to Racah’s.”

  “Look,” Princess said in her most authoritative voice. “I just want to find this white road. And find my way to the city called Aloblase. I might have family there. Maybe.”

  Finally Rog spoke up, “They’ll be looking for her, Lydia. She set his dragon free. The Dark King will be furious. He’ll scour every town in these woods.”

  “Perhaps.” Lydia eyed Princess with her steel gaze. “What’s your name, dear?”

  Princess’s mind reeled. She hated lying. The woman spoke kindly. So did the men. Then she remembered so had DezPierre. Was there anyone she could trust?

  Jerin crouched in front of her as he met her gaze with the most amazing pale blue eyes she’d ever seen. “We want to help you. Honest. We’re not going to turn you in. I swear.” He placed a big, calloused hand over his heart. “You said earlier that the Alburnium army was near? The flags show a golden tree emblem. Is that what you saw?”

  Princess nodded, wiping her damp eyes on her sleeve.

  “Well, we’re willing to trust you and offer help. Can’t you trust us with your name?”

  She ducked her head with a shrug. “I honestly don’t know. Dez called me Miss. I’m fine with that.”

  Lydia looked her up and down. “We’re you injured, dear? I’ve heard of people suffering from amnesia. They forget everything.” She squeezed her hand. “They must have called you something where you lived.”

  She’d never tell another soul about that awful name.

  With a loud sigh, Jerin pointed to Dean’s book. “Is that a copy of The King’s Book of Letters? I haven’t seen one of them in... ages. May I?” He reached out, and she set it in his big hands.

  “What is that, anyway?” she asked.

  His brow cocked. “A...book of letters. From the king. Duh.” He rolled his eyes.

  Rog nudged the big guy, glaring at his sarcasm. “From King Shaydon. Letters he’s written over time to his people.” He leaned forward, looking on with interest as Jerin flipped through the pages.

  Jerin’s blue eyes shot from the cover where Dean’s name was written, to her before he snapped the book closed. “Think you remember how to find their camp?”

  She nodded taking her book back. Jerin had to suspect she wasn’t being completely honest. Sweat beaded along the nape of her neck.

  “Good. I’m going with you.” He waved toward the couple. “Rog and Lydia are willing to offer us supplies. She even has a traveling outfit that will fit you.” He studied her torn dress, forehead wrinkled in an unasked question. Blinking, he offered instead, “If you’ll take me to the army’s camp, I swear to get you to the highway. I need their help in fighting off these pests.”

  They weren’t going to turn her in! Energy surged though her despite the heavy tiredness. She couldn’t thank Jerin enough, and was eager to leave right away.

  Lydia patted her shoulders soothingly. “You should get a good night’s rest. I suggest starting out before dawn.”

  Jerin nodded. “I’ll let Papa know where I’m going. He can handle things until I return.” He faced Princess. “Stay here until I come for you. Okay?”

  She promised, smiling wider than she remembered smiling in a long time.

  Once they left her, she returned to her bag and carefully repacked each item. Lydia brought her a bar of soap and a brush. The extra items fit easily inside. Lydia also provided a black traveling cloak, a shirt and pants. The outfit was slightly too big, but much better than the torn dress.

  Princess was so grateful, she wanted to hug the woman, but stopped herself. “I wish there was some way to repay you. This is more than—”

  “Hush.” Lydia waved her off. “Least I can do. One day I should make the trip myself.” Wistfulness creased her brows. “I’ve heard that the White Road is hard to follow at times, but there are people who watch over it and are willing to help travelers. They say once you pass the Semitamon mountains, the road widens and the land is the most beautiful you’ll ever see.” She stared into an unseen distance. “It’s like walking into a dream. Trees are bountiful with fruit and you can help yourself to as much as you like. It’s as close to perfect as one could ever hope to get.”

  “Why haven’t you already gone?”

  “Well…” she looked at her husband, who’d just entered with her canteen filled. “We’ve had this tavern to run. Kids to bring up. We …”

  “We never made the time,” Rog finished. “And now here we are, helpless to protect our own town. Wouldn’t be that way if we’d listened to the Alburnium warriors who came through a couple of years ago. They’d told us to send some of our people to go learn from the King’s Academy. They promised we’d be taught how to keep the enemy away and how to make the land abundant. We were supposed to pick a few who would go learn and come back to teach us. But it never happened.”

  Lydia waved her hands, dismissing the subject despite the glimmering dampness along her lower lashes.

  “I’ll leave the food pack by your door, honey. Best you get some rest before Jerin returns.”

  Princess nodded, but as Lydia and Rog left, she wondered if she’d find sleep tonight. Her mind spun with hope, fear, and excitement. She forced herself to move and not think about either what lay behind or in front of her.

  She put on the new clothes, tied her auburn tresses into a braid. Once she lay down, sleep took her quickly.

  In her dreams, a man stood before a mound of freshly turned brown earth. Princess felt like someone had ripped out her heart, her chest hurt so bad.

  “Come, Alyra,” the dream man held out his hand. “She’s not here anymore.”

  “Noooo.” Her child-self shook her head.

  “Alyra…come. Now.”

  Princess bolted up and searched the darkened room. There, next to the door, sat a bag full of food.

  That name. Alyra. Where had she heard it before?

  Outside the window, harsh voices thundered through the silent township. She peeked through the lace curtains to find a group of Okbolds surrounding a large figure mounted on a black horse. Five other riders, bearing torches, sat upon shadowy mounts as well. Prickles went up her spine when she spotted Darnel’s red insignia on their backs.

  Bezoar! He’d come for her!

  Where was Jerin? They’d never escape undetected now. Her mind raced as she shoved her feet into her boots. She threw the cloak on over the backpack. There were soldiers in town looking for her. With or without Jerin, she had to get away now.

  Then another thought struck her. What if Jerin was also killed trying to help her? Like Dean? She snatched up the food bag and raced out toward the back of the hotel. No, she’d not be responsible for another person’s death. If she found the camp on her own, she’d be sure to tell them about Yarholm.

  Quietly, Princess slid into the predawn darkness, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. The woods surrounded the edge of the yard and she headed in that direction. Something caught hold her arm. A hand clamped down over her mouth, closing off her startled scream.

  Her captor shoved her hard against a tree trunk, his dark face only inches from hers.

  She cringed from his foul breath.

  He whispered, “Obedience isn’t one of your best qualities, is it?”

  Chapter 10

  “Where have you been?” Princess shoved her hands into Jerin’s boulder-like chest. Shock waves resonated up her arms. “Racan soldiers are here.”

  Jerin placed a thick finger over his mouth and motioned for her to follow him deeper into the trees. He turned to her with a low growl. “So happens, they are searching for a runaway. Yeah. And they say this ‘runaway’ is Lord Darnel’s daughter.”

  She chewed on her upper lip, not liking where this was going. His voice dripped with sarcasm, his brows crinkling tightly over furious eyes.

  “Oh, and they also said this princess stole
his pet dragon.” His eyes narrowed. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  “I’m not his daughter.” Her heart skipped a few beats. She shook her head, regaining composure. “And I hate being called Princess, so don’t even think about calling me that, mister!”

  Jerin’s mouth hung open as he stared at her. He peered over his shoulder at the sound of yelling in the street. “No time now. That little vermin you came with has told them everything. We need to hurry. Which way to the Alburnium camp?”

  So Darnel definitely knew she had escaped. With the dragon. Did Master pursue Crystal, too? And what had happened to Tarek? She closed her eyes, fearing the blood rushing to her head might cause her to pass out.

  Jerin’s jerk on her arm brought her into focus. “Well?”

  “To the south, I think.”

  He glared at her, tightening his grip until it hurt.

  “For sure. I mean.” He seemed to have the disposition of a grizzly bear freshly wakened from hibernation. She’d have to try not to anger him too much before they reached the warrior camp. Swallowing down a lump-full of doubt, she glanced past him toward the road. “The soldier’s are blocking the only way I know that will get us there.”

  Brows scrunched in thought, Jerin studied the invaders. A slow smile spread across his block-shaped face.

  “Keep hidden. I’ll return in a minute.” He started to leave then stopped. “This time stay put, kid.” He poked her shoulder hard. Heading behind the buildings lining the main road, he added, “I mean it.”

  She scowled. He didn’t have to treat her like a child.

  Crouching behind a thick oak, she watched the street where several lanterns illuminated the riders’ shadowed movements. Five watched on horseback, while nearly a dozen on foot searched the small cottage shops. Busted doors, breaking glass, and angry voices shattered the pre-dawn quiet. One rider lit a torch from the streetlight.

  Bezoar’s distinct voice roared, “The whole village will burn if I don’t get the truth this instant.”

  “No,” Princess gasped.

  DezPierre ran from one of the buildings and stopped before Bezoar, hopping from one foot to the other. The captain reached down and grabbed the little fellow by the mossy hair on his head.

  “How was I to know, sire?” DezPierre squealed. “I tells you everything, indeed. I swears it, sire, I swear! Don’t hurt our nice town, sire, please!”

  Bezoar hissed and hurled him into a clump of bushes.

  No matter how much she disliked the Okbold, she cringed at Bezoar’s cruel treatment. If not for Dez, she never would have found Yarholm. Fire burned in her chest. She’d not stand by and let him get hurt. Nor would she allow the Racan captain to set the town on fire, especially not after all Rog and Lydia’s help.

  Aside from giving herself up, though, what could she do? Most likely, he’d burn the place down anyway for helping her.

  No! Nobody else could be harmed because of her. The guilt over Dean still hung about her neck like her pendant. She considered the main road that headed south. If she ran fast enough and led them away, then maybe, once Bezoar caught her, he’d forget about this place.

  Slowly, she stood. Her legs trembled like blades of grass.

  A loud bang echoed across the town, followed by several yells. She jumped at the sound.

  “They’ve escaped with the horses!” someone hollered.

  Bezoar took off toward the commotion at the stables. Most of the Okbolds and foot soldiers hurried after him.

  The woods around Princess shook from splitting limbs and crunching earth. She spun, her heart leaping into her throat. A huge shadowed figure bound right for her.

  Jerin reined his mount and reached for her hand. In one swift motion, she landed on the roan’s back. He kicked the horse into a full gallop. Three of the Okbolds remained at the crossroad.

  When DezPierre saw her, his bulbous eyes inflated. “Miss! No! Don’t do this!”

  Jerin pulled the club he’d used earlier from his belt loop and struck a hard blow at DezPierre. The creature flew off his feet and landed in a briar patch beside the road.

  Oh, poor Dez.

  Yet, she had to laugh as Jerin swung the stick around like a sword. “You’d make one heck of a warrior, Jerin.”

  He sat straighter in the saddle.

  Her fingers dug onto Jerin’s cloak as they galloped full speed into the dense trees. The pounding of hooves multiplied. Princess dared a backward glance. The black riders converged.

  “They’re following us. Better make this nag move.”

  His boots poked the horse’s ribs, spurring it to run faster. “I’ll have you know this fine horse is built for endurance. She’s tilled miles of corn rows across the fields of Yarholm.”

  “Unless she’s built for speed, we’re done for.”

  The riders pursued, the distance between them closing.

  “Just hang on, kid. And keep me informed on how close they get.”

  Jerin ducked low over the horse’s mane, zigzagging through the woods in a southerly direction. The sky turned pink, making it easier to see Bezoar’s troop. She didn’t notice the leafy object fall from the trees until it landed on Jerin’s shoulder. He yelled out as the Okbold dug sharp claws into his arm. She recognized the willowish Striphen and tried grasping a handful of the whip-like branches growing from his head. He snapped viciously at her hand.

  Using the club, Jerin tried to beat him off. Striphen slid down until he hung to the hem of Jerin’s cloak. Princess lifted her booted foot and stomped him in the face. With a loud wail, he fell away and was nearly trampled by the Racan soldiers.

  “They’re getting closer!”

  “Where’s the camp, kid?”

  Apprehension wrapped around her throat like a tightly wound scarf. She recognized nothing. “Keep going south. There was a field. A tree grew in the middle.” Dare she admit to being completely lost?

  “I thought you knew where we were going?” He barked.

  Nope, better not tell him. “Are we heading south? I said they were a few miles south.”

  He grunted, checking back at the riders closing in behind them. “I think I know of a field nearby. For your sake, better hope it’s the right one.”

  Above, more Okbolds scampered along the tree-tops like squirrels.

  “You wouldn’t think such short, stumpy creatures could be so agile.” She grasped his cloak tighter as their speed increased.

  He passed the stick to her. “If they come too close, wallop them. Aim for their head.”

  She raised the bat as another Okbold attempted to hop onto Jerin. Something whizzed past her ear, lodging into the top of her weapon. The feathered end wobbled. She waved the imbedded arrow in front of Jerin’s face.

  “I hate to tell you this.”

  Jerin’s head snapped around again. Princess watched as the horse raced straight for a large clump of brush. “Hey, watch out—”

  Yanking the reins, he maneuvered past, then jerked back, leading the horse in a zigzagging run. Princess checked behind, her spine tingling. Another rider readied his bow. Bezoar knocked his horse into the archer. The archer’s horse stumbled. She let out a long breath. Master must have demanded they return her alive. They’d have to catch her first. She laughed with satisfaction.

  Their horse slid to a stop, rearing.

  She tumbled off, landing hard on the leaf-covered ground. From the dense woods, another group of men dressed in earthen colored clothes burst out with arrows readied. Several shot toward Bezoar’s oncoming soldiers. The black riders pulled away, splitting in different directions.

  A warrior towered above, a sword pointed at her face. Another grasped the horse’s reins, motioning Jerin to dismount. Two archers aimed bows at him.

  He slid from the mare. “We seek refuge. I see by the emblems on your shirts you are Alburnium warriors. Please, we’re being pursued.”

  “I see that,” said the soldier guarding her. “The others are engaging that rabble fil
th. Now, identify yourselves.”

  “I am Jerin of Yarholm. Those dark soldiers attacked my town.” He pointed at her. “They are seeking to capture the girl.”

  Princess caught the glint of a medallion peeking from the collar of one of the men’s shirts. Were they like hers or Dean’s? At least these men were not of Darnel’s army.

  The warrior poked the sword under Princess’s chin. “She must be a spy of that black-hearted thief, no doubt. State your true business or be run through, traitor!”

  “I’m no traitor.” Princess tried to stand. The sharp point of his sword insisted she stay put.

  Jerin held his hands up in surrender. “She has a fascinating story to tell. Please, we must see your highest commander first.”

  Shouts and the clanging of metal to metal rang through the woods around them.

  The warrior standing over her motioned for the others to lower their weapons. Princess gasped when he removed his helmet, allowing long, dark braids to blow free. The soldier was a maiden!

  “Whoa.” Jerin’s blue eyes turned into round pools.

  “I am known as Carah.” She pointed toward a clearing barely visible through the trees. “First we intend to rid that rabble filth from King Shaydon’s lands.”

  Sheathing her sword, she offered Princess a hand. “When we are finished, then you may speak with General Marcel.”

  Carah gave a nod. The warriors closed in, grabbing their arms to bind ropes around their wrists.

  “The General will then decide your fate.”

  * * * *

  The troop dragged Princess and Jerin to the top of a rocky hill overlooking an open meadow. Behind them spread nearly a hundred tents all waving flags with the Alburnium emblem, the tree with star-shaped leaves.

  Carah, who held the lead of Princess’s rope, pointed across the plush, green slope. Where the forest took possession of the land again, an assembly of beasts and men lined up amongst the stately spruce. Between the two opposing armies, a lone oak stood like a referee.

  Princess grinned up at Jerin. “See? Told you there was a tree in the middle of the field.”