Changer of Days by Alma Alexander Page A

fiercely in his hunger to free their royal cousin.
    “Let us go into Miranei,” Charo had advised wildly, “there are ways of finding out the exact numbers of guards, and we can take twice our number, we have proved that many times already…”
    “Yes,” Adamo had said, no less implacable but still a voice for calm reason in an ocean of turbulent emotion. “We have proved it…but always with a clear line of retreat, and the possibility of returning to fight another day. I have never seen the dungeons of Miranei, but I doubt we can take them without trouble—and even if we managed, the gates of the keep can be shut against us, and we can be hunted down and spitted like rabbits. No army has taken Miranei. Ever. And we…we aren’t even an army.”
    “Are you suggesting we just go away?”
    “No,” said Adamo, “but neither am I suggesting we throw our own lives away on something that is clearly impossible. We will go into Miranei—but we will wait. And I will try and make a friend or two amongst the guards.”
    Kieran had shaken his lethargy off then, and taken charge. “Yes. We will wait. As long as we know she lives I will give up neither the hope nor the chance of saving her. But a large group will only attract attention.”
    “A handful will not be able to do anything when the time comes,” Rochen had pointed out.
    “We will stay in touch,” said Kieran. “I was not suggesting we sever all ties.” A round of ragged laughter went up at this; Kieran looked up at a circle of bright eyes. “Ten,” he decided. “No more than ten.”
    “I,” said Charo flatly. Not asking, stating. Adamo did not even need to speak; his eyes spoke for him. Kieran nodded.
    “Adamo, Charo, myself…seven others. I will not choose. We leave camp tomorrow at dawn—I will take the seven who wait for me.” He caught another eye, bright, determined, and shook his head imperceptibly. Not you, Rochen. I need someone to lead those who stay outside.
    Rochen looked very young all of a sudden, his face slipping into a black, sullen scowl; but his brow cleared, and he lifted his head, looked straight at Kieran, nodded. And then, because it was still stronger than him, turned away.
    The seven were waiting with their saddled horses when the three foster brothers emerged from the camp the next morning. Kieran, already mounted, reined in lightly, sweeping his company with hard blue eyes. “It’s the most bitter duty of all you have chosen,” he said softly. “The waiting may be long…and we may be waiting for disaster.”
    “And maybe also for a miracle,” one of the men murmured.
    “They pulled straws,” said Adamo, his voice deceptively gentle. “Every one of those men staying behind is wide awake, listening to us go, and cursing the long straws they pulled last night.”
    “For Anghara,” said Charo, “and for you. You kept the dream alive. If anyone can snatch her from the dreaded dungeons of Miranei, it’s you.”
    “And I need to be unlucky only once,” said Kieran. “Then it will all have been for nothing. Perhaps Sif has already given the word…”
    “Sif is not at Miranei,” said Adamo. “And many things can happen before he returns.”
     
    He had been both right, and wrong. Sif had been in Shaymir; but nothing happened where Anghara herself was concerned, not while Sif was away, not when he came back. Chanoch, Anghara’s birthday, Winter Court came and went. Kieran’s handful mingled with the guard, and they knew that Anghara still lived. And then winter was almost over—and came the morning Sif rode away from Miranei like a whirlwind to wreak his revenge for his wounded mother. And then, on the heels of that…Senena.
    Unknown to Sif, one of the guards who had stayed behind on duty in Miranei was far more than a simple soldier. It was he who had sought out Kieran in his hostelry, a gray-eyed man with ash-brown hair with the build and cast of the man who had once been Red Dynan’s First General.
    “I