Lillan and the patrol crested the hill. Martan was furious and shouted, “What are you doing? Are you completely out of your mind?”
“I had to see for myself.”
“You are about to start the war!”
“Yes, I might have,” Clarian snapped. “At any rate, we can’t outrun them on these tired horses. So, either we pick where we fight, or they will. Remember, no war has yet been declared. So they may not want to be the first to start it without orders. I think with us awaiting them here, the cost will be too high. They don’t know how many there are of us, and they might be afraid of a trap,” said Clarian.
Within moments, the band of Maggan riders reappeared, swarming down the trail toward the waiting Karran, who presented a strong front, with archers on each flank, bows in hand with arrows notched, and ten warriors lined up across the hill. The Maggan had twice the number of riders as the Karran, but they slowed when they sighted the Karran waiting for them. At about two hundred paces from where Clarian sat upon his horse with the others, the Maggan stopped and milled about, talking and pointing. One of the Maggan was waving his sword in the air and shouting at the Karran, but his words were muffled. After several minutes, the Maggan turned and rode back the way they came.
Lillan dismounted, and they all followed her lead, watering the horses in a brook that ran alongside the trail. All eyes remained on the path, not trusting that the Maggan had given up so easily. The thought remained that the Maggan might slip out of sight for a while and then try to catch the Karran unaware later.
“You fool!” snarled Martan.
Clarian glared back. “They would have lost half their men before reaching us, and then the odds would still have been in our favor because we held the high ground. They would have been at a disadvantage.
Clarian held the reins of his horse loosely as he led it to water.
Martan’s face was twisted in anger. “You took a big chance,” he said.
Clarian stared at him hard and then ignored him.
Some of the soldiers sat down on the sparse grass, some on large rocks, waiting to see whether the Maggan would return. Some took out food and began eating.
After two hours of waiting, they mounted up and resumed their journey back to the Citadel on tired horses. Three soldiers trailed and watched the rear, but no Maggan appeared. The road widened as they passed out of no-man’s land and into Karran territory, and they made better time. By day’s end, they rode slouched with fatigue into the courtyard of the Citadel.
Giving their horses to the grooms, the soldiers headed for the barracks. Rokkman met with Martan, and his face was soon livid, his eyes following Clarian. He hurried off, saying he needed to report to the Flamekeeper.
Clarian followed the other soldiers into the barracks. A soldier pointed out the door to the sleeping quarters. The corridor was dimly lit from a small window. Lillan stepped in front of him. She studied him with a long, penetrating look so that he could not avoid her eyes. She leaned her body against his, forcing his back against the cold, stone wall, her solemn face inches from his. It was like an electric jolt to his system.
“You are either stupid or brave,” she said, “but either way, you’re reckless.” She pulled away, her eyes fixed on his, and then she was gone.
Later that day, Rokkman summoned Clarian. Standing behind his desk, overcome with fury, Rokkman confronted Clarian.
“Do you have any sense of what we are facing here? The Maggan are poised to strike, and there you go, right into their camp. And I’m told you had a run-in with an enemy warrior? How you escaped is beyond me.”
“You are too fearful of these night people, Rokkman. That’s half your problem.”
“You can’t speak to me that way! I’m a high priest in service to the Flame. You should be begging forgiveness. Apologizing. You’re wild, like the frontier. From this moment