Yuragwyn: Ours

---Chapter 8

∞Kaitra∞

I walk into the expectant stillness of the tent and nod to the officers surrounding the table in the center. I see many of Calanthe's features in one of the men. This must be Honorable Urien. He has the same dark hair, and eyes. Middle-aged, with a scar on his left arm, he eyes me worriedly. I know he must be anxious for news of his daughters, and I am almost ashamed of the tale I must share with him.

I tell my tale completely, with great detail, from the moment we left the crowd in the plain before Cordina until the moment I drew my dagger and left the country of Granziar for safety in the other world. I watch their faces as they imagine the hardships of our journey. They hold the pain only those who have shared these experiences can, and Hiltraud's words the night before tear at my heartstrings.

Honorable Urien's expression is the most painful. His daughters are the ones currently suffering in a Granzian dungeon. His daughters are in harm's way, their lives hanging by Cyneric's whim.

"Well, we will go rescue them then," Lord Cadfael says, standing up suddenly. "Let's make the arrangements and organize a company for me to take."

"Lord Cadfael," Honorable Urien says, "Should I not go? They are my daughters."

Lord Cadfael shakes his head and places his hand on the arm of his old friend. "I need you here. Keep up these defenses. Kaitra, you will come with us. We need you to show us where you left them."

And with only a handful of spattered speech, we have formed into our parties and broken down camp. A pegasus is brought for me, and my thoughts wander to Traugott with a twinge as I pull myself up upon the creature. It is still an awkward transition, but I manage.

Honorable Urien and his unit march alongside us— they are heading back to Cordina for more supplies— and I watch the heaviness in his eyes. I hope that we are able to rescue his daughters. They need their father as much as he needs them.

The sun has passed its apex as we come within sight of the River Rapha through the trees. We follow much the same path that Hiltraud and I did, but the wood still gives me no hint of direction or location. How do they know where they are going?

A scream erupts from our left, and people and centaurs and pegasuses flood out from behind the trees, weapons brandished.

Granzians.

I fumble with my bow and arrow as our lines clash. Sweat beads down my forehead, my heart races, and I lose all hand-eye coordination. The arrow wavers near the string. Why can't I just notch it! Blood colors the leaves, and a few soldiers from each side fall to the turf. My frustration only hinders my actions. I want to cry and scream and hide in a corner all at the same time.

"Lady Kaitra, down on the right!" Hiltraud cries. I fall over behind my beast none too gracefully as an arrow flies over my head. A spare sword is thrust in my direction—I had set mine down on the general pile with the others in the flurry of packing— and I give up my archery for now. I must do something useful.

I rush around my braying and foaming pegasus and look for an unmatched Granzian to swing at. A woman a bit taller than me, with thick braids and hard-set eyes comes towards me. She brandishes a longsword, a thin, deft blade. I am unmistakably in her sights, and suddenly I am frozen in my small boots. This is no small, polite duel with Calanthe or Traugott. This is a fight through which to draw blood and the very life from her thickly-built frame. Am I justified in taking her life-breath? How do soldiers make such decisions? Maybe she is in a similar position as I, and she is oh so very consciously grasping the hilt so as not to drop it from the tremble in her nerves. Maybe she would rather run the other direction, back home, and not have to make such a terrifying choice.