Twilight Crossing. Susan Krinard

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       Chapter 2

      “Yes,” the Rider who rescued Jamie said. “I apologize.”

      He helped her to her feet, brushing leaves out of her hair. Jamie put her hand up self-consciously and stepped back, making sure that her footing was solid.

      There was just enough moonlight filtering through the tree branches for her to get a better look at her rescuer. His features were handsome from what she could see of their lines—his chin firm, his cheekbones high and his gaze direct and curious. He had a Rider’s legs, firmly muscled, and his shoulders were broad under his shearling coat. He wore two knives: one in a sheath at his waist and a smaller one in his boot. His rifle was slung over his shoulder by its strap.

      “Is anyone hurt?” she asked, trying to look past him at the wagons.

      “Only the soldier who was wounded before,” he said. He flashed her an utterly unexpected grin. “The raiders are gone, and they won’t be returning.”

      “I have to see my godfather. Councilman Parks.”

      “Of course. I’ll take you.”

      “That won’t be—”

      She didn’t get a chance to finish. He looped his arm around her shoulder, half supporting her, and led her out from under the trees. There was no remaining sign of the raiders, except for a few abandoned weapons and broken earth where Opiri and half-bloods had struggled.

      The night had grown dark, but her escort’s steps were sure, and someone had lit lanterns by the wagons. Her godfather appeared before she reached the nearest wagon, his eyes filled with alarm. Her savior let go of her.

      “Jamie?” Amos said. “Are you hurt?”

      “No,” she said. “I think I have this man to thank for that.”

      She turned, but the Rider was gone.

      “Come and sit down,” Amos said. “Our escorts have sent the raiders running, but they want us to remain together.”

      Peering into the darkness, Jamie tried to make out the newcomers. “How many have come?” she asked.

      “Four,” he said, guiding her to the nearest wagon.

      “Almost evenly matched,” she said.

      “The Riders seem to be very good fighters, as promised,” Amos said. “They didn’t even use their rifles.” He helped her sit beside the wagon. “I’ll get you something to drink.”

      “You have other work to do, Amos,” she said, squeezing his hand. “I’ll be fine.”

      He crouched beside her. “You should never have spoken up as you did.”

      “It was worth a try,” she said.

      “You know better than anyone what they could have done to you,” Amos said, cupping her cheek in his hand. “And in spite of your one experience with an Opir, you’re still naive about so many things. I should never have let you come along.”

      “How many times have we discussed this, Amos?” she asked. “It’s not just because of my mother. I’m a scientist, and I can’t hide forever. Too much of the outside world is still unknown to us, and someone has to keep a record of what we experience and observe. Whatever I learn will help us at the Conclave, and afterward. I believe in this peace.”

      Amos sighed. “I know. But promise me that you won’t do anything so foolish again.”

      She smiled unevenly. “I promise.”

      With a slow shake of his head, Amos rose and walked away. Jamie released her breath. She wasn’t sure if she’d been truthful with her godfather. How could she be sure what circumstances would arise on their journey? Sometimes even a scientist had to take risks.

      For her, even stepping outside the Enclave had been a kind of risk. She’d hidden herself away in her parents’ lab since her father’s death, avoiding all contact with the world outside the Enclave, missing even the most average social experiences most other young women her age took for granted.

      Amos had called her naive, and maybe she was. But she had hope for the Conclave because of the words her mother had written in her journal—and because of what she had learned in the laboratory. A secret she believed might make all the difference at the meeting.

      If she could present it at just the right time.

      Rubbing her arms against the chill night air, Jamie found herself looking for her rescuer again. She caught a glimpse of him speaking to his fellow Riders, all four of them dressed in the same shearling coats tanned the color of wheat and with the wool side turned inward. He was tall and stood confidently, with an athlete’s bearing, and the other men listened attentively.

      He must be the leader, Jamie thought. And judging by the rugged, competent looks of the other Riders, that would mean something.

      But he was also a half-breed. Half-Opiri, needing blood to survive. Expecting to take donations from the delegation to nourish him and his followers over the long weeks.

      Her turn to donate would come, too. But she wouldn’t think about that yet. For now she could honestly say to herself that this half-blood didn’t frighten her. He was living proof that not all Opiri were violent hunters.