Free In the Shadow of Swords by Val Gunn

in the royal city of Hohnn, and at their bidding rode southwestward into the Tarkh Hills, a desolate region of high, rounded tors, broad ridges, and hidden vales. There, above the city of Limmún, Marin helped rid the area of a behrraun , a vicious predator that stalked and killed livestock and farmers. She nearly died in this fight, yet it seemed as simple as a child’s game.
    The Four Banners company boarded a ship to Cevar and lingered a while in the crown city of Enneri, its walls set on high cliffs overlooking the sea and the nearest of the Seven Islands. The rumored pirate attack never came, and Lavvann joked that Marin’s fierce reputation had frightened them away.
    The company sailed east to Nórra and then south to the island realms of Laval. They had no reason to make landfall on Aeíx this time, and Marin looked on the accursed island with bleak fury as they passed, hoping the outlaws and the kayal were busy slaughtering one another. Torre Lavvann saw the look on her face, and ordered her to take a furlough when they reached the kingdom of Falasan. There he knew a healer who might offer her help.
    The healer’s treatments relaxed and strengthened Marin’s body but did nothing for her spirit. She craved a return to her company and its dangerous missions, but her next journey would be to Ruinart and Cievv.
    The year of mourning was coming to an end.
    12
    MARIN LEFT her bed at dawn.
    Beyond her window, the cityscape gave way to green hills that rose toward mountain peaks shaded violet in the early light. Other travelers had assured her that this road led to the shrine of Sey’r an-Shal—the Falls to Heaven. Many people came this way; the shrine was a source of drinking water for the lands below, as well as a place of pilgrimage.
    The morning was clear and hot as Marin climbed the hills and wandered through forested valleys. Although she knew it was less than a day’s walk, she became worried as the suns passed noon and the shadows inched westward.
    At last, rounding a bend near the summit of a steep hill, she saw the source of the stream that her road had followed for much of the day. Water sparkled as it flowed from the mouth of a small cave and tumbled down several steep falls, each issuing from the pool above it. The shrine was a larger cave cut into the hillside beneath the highest waterfall. A long flight of stone steps led from the road to the shrine and the promontory above.
    Marin climbed the steps as they curved around the topmost pool. It seemed like a sacred place, yet she felt no peace. One year ago today, Hiril had died. She had lingered in mourning until this moment. Something was supposed to change—exactly what, she still had no idea.
    The shrine was cool after her day in the hot sun, its floor and walls smoothed and polished, echoing with the gentle splash of water. Cut into the stone floor were five shallow channels running the width of the cave. Five springs gushed from the rock wall to Marin’s right, one into each channel. The water trickled across the cave toward the far wall. There, each trickle left its individual channel to join a wall of water that flowed upward as if ascending to heaven. Was it magic? Was it an illusion? Marin felt as if she should stand in awe of this miracle, and feel inspiration or be at peace.
    She felt neither.
    No matter. It was time.
    The silver urn was cool in her hands, though it had spent the hot day under her cloak. Kneeling by the nearest channel, Marin drew a deep breath; it came out a sob. Her powerful, slender body curled around Hiril’s ashes and slumped to the floor. A broken, breathless keening shook her. She’d wept often throughout the past year, but never like this, never with the desolation of a widow who finally knows—with the shattering of her heart—that she is truly alone.
    The storm of emotion swept through her and was gone. She was empty again, her world filled with the noise of the inverted waterfall and the rapid beating of her