Free The Lost Realm by J. D. Rinehart

into the blackness.

CHAPTER 5
    W hat are you doing?” said Samial uncertainly.
    â€œWhat I should have done sooner,” said Elodie, lifting the knife.
    She adjusted the shield she’d propped in the corner of the tent, tilting it slightly so that her face was reflected in the polished inner surface.
    Taking her hair in her other hand, she began methodically to cut it off.
    Samial watched in silence as Elodie’s long, red-gold locks fell to the ground.
    â€œIf you had told me a few weeks ago that I’d be doing this,” said Elodie, “I’d have been horrified. But not now. Part of my hair was sliced off in the battle. I’m just evening it up.”
    â€œYou are doing a lot more than that.”
    When she’d finished, Elodie put down the knife and appraised her reflection. Her hair was little more than a scruffy cap on her head. Urchin hair , she thought. “It’s like there was another me all along, hidden underneath the first me. A secret me. And now I’ve set her free.”
    â€œYou are still you,” Samial replied.
    But Elodie wondered.
    â€œCome on,” she said. “It’s past noon. We’re late already.”
    â€œWhy do you like me to attend council? I am a ghost. Nobody else knows I am there.”
    â€œThat’s exactly why you’re useful, Samial. You can hear the things I miss.”
    Samial grinned. “It is good to be useful again. Sir Jaken always used to say that a good servant was a better treasure than gold.”
    â€œYou’re not my servant, Samial. You’re my friend.”
    Leaving the tent, they crossed the clearing to the flat patch of ground where Fessan’s big tent had been pitched. He welcomed her into the circle of people gathered in the open space, then made his way around the others gathered there, clasping hands with some, clapping the shoulders of others. Elodie noted the respect in people’s eyes as their commander moved among them.
    He’s more than a leader to them , she thought. He keeps them going.
    She took her seat, Samial standing beside her. Although she was glad of his presence, she found herself suddenly missing Tarlan. Her brother had been gone only a day, yet his absence seemed to hang over her. She stroked the green jewel at her throat. Even though she knew Tarlan had lost his to Lord Vicerin, the touch of the cold stone seemed to bring him a little closer.
    â€œWe are Trident,” said Fessan, taking up his place at the center of the circle, “and we have survived!”
    The audience, which up to that moment had been a sea of distracted murmurs, fell silent.
    â€œWe are safe here, for now at least—our enemies do not know where we are. Yet we are vulnerable even so, for two reasons. We have wounded, very many of them. And our numbers are badly depleted. The problem of the wounded will be solved by time, as injuries heal and spirits mend. For once, time is a luxury we can afford.
    â€œAs for our numbers, on this we must take action at once. New recruits will not come to us; we must go to them. There is a town nearby—Deep Poynt . . .”
    â€œWe passed through the place last year,” put in Ghast, one of Fessan’s lieutenants. “The people there have no love for our cause.”
    â€œNor are they against us. They are simply afraid to show allegiance to anyone. If we give them a reason to join us—show them a figurehead—I believe they will rally.”
    All eyes turned to Elodie. Their combined gaze struck her like a blast of wind, leaving her momentarily breathless.
    â€œIf it’s support you want,” interrupted a voice from the edge of the clearing, “you’re looking at your first recruit.”
    A man in a brown cloak emerged from the trees. He tossed his thick gray hair out of his eyes and began swaggering toward them.
    â€œStown!” Elodie cried. She leaped up, drawing her sword.
    Fessan was already