of the clan, she agrees. But though she’s long been drawn to the warrior, any relationship between the two is forbidden. The arrival of a mysterious stranger with a tempting offer tests her loyalties, and when betrayal looms, will Mooriah’s secrets and hidden power put the future she’s dreamed of—and her adopted home—in jeopardy?
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Proofreading: Lillie’s Literary Services
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Shield of Strength: To harden the body and mind against attack from within or without.
Add equal parts ground bitterleaf, blue ginger, and silent barbshell. Also have the ingredients for the Cleansing of Scales on hand in case a bony shell appears on the recipient’s skin.
—WISDOM OF THE FOLK
With a steady drumbeat pumping in his veins, Ember wiped the sweat from his brow and regarded his opponent. The man across from him in the brawling circle, Divot, breathed heavily, but no other evidence of strain tensed his broad features. Ceremonial paint ran in rivulets down his neck and chest mixed with his sweat, but his eyes were bright. His waistcloth, however, was no longer pristine, but dingy with dirt. Evidence of the fierceness of the match so far. Ember grinned. This would be a good bout.
The two challengers circled one another, stepping lightly. The glow of firerocks illuminated the large cave, nearly all the way to its high ceiling and the tiny circle of daylight barely visible above. They were deep in the interior of the Mountain Mother, on neutral territory belonging to no clan. Whispers rising from the surrounding crowd reminded Ember of their presence, but he pushed the observers from his mind. He needed to stay focused to win this match—the blade of his father’s intense scrutiny threatened to pierce his skin. Not only was his own honor on the line, but that of the Night Snow clan as well.
Ember and Divot were well matched as warriors. And though the other man had a few knots of height on him and was a bit broader about the chest and shoulders, Ember had been training nearly since birth. If not formally, then informally as a result of his brother’s constant attempts to best him.
He rushed the larger man, grabbing him around the waist and sweeping his legs from underneath him, using well-practiced technique to bring him to the ground. Grappling eliminated Divot’s height advantage and longer arm-reach. The men wrestled, Ember trying to get his opponent into a submission hold, but Divot evaded and executed an impressive reversal, throwing Ember on his back. While Divot applied his weight to Ember’s bent knee, attempting to press him further into the ground and pin him, Ember’s other leg was free for a sweeping kick to the head. It knocked Divot back to allow Ember to escape the hold.
He jumped to his feet while Divot rose slowly. When the man faced him, a shiver of revulsion rippled through Ember. The kick had split Divot’s lip; he spat blood onto the sand underfoot.
Ember’s stomach roiled. He’d eaten no breakfast that morning, for this reason. Shame brought the noise of the crowd rushing to his ears. The scent of sweat and blood and dirt assaulted him, shattering his concentration. With the aid of a lifetime of practice, he clamped down an unforgiving manacle on his body’s reactions and his emotions.
A Cavefolk could not hate the sight of blood. It was absurd.
He steeled himself, not looking at the man’s red-tinged smile, instead staring aggressively into his eyes before ramming his shoulder into Divot’s chest. Soon they were caught in a clinch, arms locked together as they directed knee and elbow strikes. This close, the coppery scent of blood filled Ember’s nostrils. It tickled his gag reflex and caused his gorge to rise. All involuntary reactions he had long ago learned to smother with ruthless desperation. But wrangling his body under control distracted him for a fraction of an eye-blink. Long enough to fall victim to a knee directed at his ribs. The breath flew from Ember’s body. Divot took