What Is Needed

Chapter 1

Along the winding approach to Withling's Watch, a lone figure rode a plodding horse, bowed against the buffeting wind. Youthful hands battled the fingers of cold that snatched at cloak and hood. Strands of brown hair fluttered out of the hood as the woman who owned them huffed clouds of breath out her nose. Her receding chin held firm with clenched teeth against the encroaching chill. Her dark, brown eyes squinted into the wind and watered.

Withling's Watch squatted ahead now in deeper shadow as the dregs of sunlight dwindled behind the Gray Spires. Hastra's head bobbed with the motion of her mare's hoof-dragging gait. It was good to come home. She yawned and shivered. But the occasion of the first winter snow left her wishing for a warm fire and dinner at the village inn bypassed hours earlier. Zelma and friends waited with welcome. Hastra's stomach rumbled. But first, some food.

The expansive stone building loomed out of the dusk as the horse climbed the cobble-stoned incline to the walled keep. Smoke puffed from chimneys. She kicked her weary horse for a faster pace but the animal whickered and ignored her urging.

The gusts from the eastern flanks of the Gray Spires flung Hastra's fur-lined cloak in wild contortions. She tugged the garment under control, held it one-handed against another blast, and gripped the reins in her other hand. She chuckled between her chattering teeth. That woke her. They may be a house of mystics and miracles but even they suffered from cold and hunger. Her stomach growled again.

Horseshoes rang on the road as she approached the gates. Lamps in the gatehouse cast a pool of light in the gloom. Hastra pulled her cloak tighter and lifted her head. Snow threatened all day and night arrived fast below those peaks. Her gaze followed stray snowflakes onto her horse's head.

She blinked into gathering gloom. Hastra gasped. The gatehouse lights were out and the keep stood dark. Her eyes narrowed. The wrought-iron gates stood ajar and listed like a ship in a gale. She pulled the reins and the mare halted with a snort.

The wind howled and exploded past the squealing gateway. Shadow slammed into Hastra and she tumbled off the mare. Screams of terror and snarls of violence echoed from the courtyard. Fire belched from the darkness and roared past her. The mingled voices fell silent while gusts moaned like ghosts around the desolate square.

Boots clattered on the stone pavement.

Hastra recoiled as a figure distilled from the gloom. Her hand fumbled for her belt-knife. "Who's there?" She blinked and the spectral gloom faded.

"Hastra? It's me, Corgren." The Rokan Withling trotted to Hastra's aide with light streaming behind him. He extended his arms. "You fell off your horse. Are you ill or just tired? Are you injured?"

Hastra stammered. He looked like a vulture stooping over a corpse with that bald head and hooked nose. "I've had a..." She stifled her tongue in sudden wariness. Best not speak of a vision too soon. "I must've nodded off a moment. I've pushed hard to return before the snow."

"Can you stand? Here, let me help you." Corgren clasped hands with Hastra as she climbed to her feet.

"Just bruised, I think." She winced and rubbed her hip.

Corgren released Hastra. "You're young, that'll heal soon enough unless Eloch instructs someone to heal you."

"Yes, perhaps." Hastra cocked her head and arched an eyebrow at her surroundings. Light glimmered from the gatehouse and the gates stood whole. Lanterns gleamed in the courtyard while lamps or candles glistened from the keep's windows. She turned and found nothing behind her except the mare and the hastening night. That had been a vision, but of what?

Corgren gathered the mare's reins. "Come warm up in the gatehouse. I'll have your horse taken to the stable."

Hastra limped beside the Rokan who held her arm and led her mare. That vision came with neither instruction nor other impressions. She grimaced at her hip and stepped into the gatehouse as snow swirled thicker on the night wind.