Season of Glory by Lisa Tawn Bergren Page A

This time, guilt. “What?” I said, hoping
not to get into it.
    He waited me out, refusing to let me go.
    â€œI was just thinking how good your hand felt in mine,” I finally admitted, “and how
I’m glad you are not Keallach.”
    He leaned close to whisper, “It feels good to touch you again.” Then he took the
lead on the narrower trail as we entered deeper forest, still holding my hand. Seconds
later, he whirled and grabbed my waist, pulling me into the brush. “We’re not alone,”
he growled to Vidar, who had paused just ahead. “Sense anything?”
    â€œNo,” Vidar whispered back.
    Everyone eased from the path and into the shelter of the forest, except for Niero.
We could barely make out his dark form in the dim light, but I knew his tension.
Worse, I felt it from others around us. Many , screamed my mind. So many.
    â€œYou’re surrounded,” growled a low voice. “We have ten archers with arrows pointed
at your chests, plus four with guns. Raise your hands.”
    We all lifted our hands together. How had we not heard them?
    â€œWho are you?” barked a low voice. “What are you doing here?”
    â€œWe are people of the Way,” Niero said, striding back toward us. “Valley dwellers.
Who are you?”
    After a pause, I felt the easing of tension, and joy replacing it. My armband was
warm. Those holding guns switched their safeties on again; those holding bows released
the tension on their strings. I turned as Vidar and Bellona whooped in joy and clasped
arms with the dark forms behind us. It was then I knew. Aravanders . The Aravanders
were here. They’d formed an advance guard to the Valley.
    A torch was lit, and we saw that two of them were the same women who had rescued
us from the Isle of Catal—the dark-haired gunner and Aleris, the boat captain. Vidar
sidled right up to the gunner, who held a fearsome weapon in her strong arms. “Have
I mentioned how much I love a woman with a gun?” Vidar asked, flashing her one of
his winning smiles. “I’ve dreamed of meeting up with you again. And now this . .
.”
    The girl rolled her eyes in return as she passed by him, but I felt her pleasure.
    â€œWait!” he cried, following after her. “What is your name? I’ve kicked myself a hundred
times for not asking.”
    I grinned. How could she not be charmed? Bellona, on the other hand, just groaned
and moved past them as the gunner turned to chat with Vidar. Camilla was her name.
    The guards led us to their post, where we were placed on mudhorses. Wearily, gratefully,
I sank onto an old mare’s back. “As tired as you might be after a long day of work,
girl,” I said, leaning forward to stroke her mane, “I think I might have you beat.”
    More torches were lit to surround us, and we continued up the Valley with the Aravanders
pointing out new trails to various encampments. “There are thousands here now,” said
Aleris. “Every day, hundreds more come. They’re all under strict orders to live as
we direct them—dousing campfires before nightfall, hiding their dwellings under branches.
Many have taken refuge in the caves to the west side of the Valley. We don’t want
Pacifica to know how many are here when they come hunting.”
    â€œIt’s effective,” Bellona said. “We had no idea upon our approach that so many had
arrived. But we don’t have drones.”
    â€œTrue. But I can tell you from experience that, even with the drones, the Pacificans
are always surprised at who rises to fight them,” she said with a flash in her eyes.
    â€œAre all willing to fight for the Community if it comes to that?” Ronan asked the
guard nearest him, a tall man walking beside his mudhorse in traditional Aravander
skins.
    â€œThey are. There are many capable men and women among them. Better yet, there are
hunters and goatherds and farmers who