Twilight Crossing. Susan Krinard

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.

      She reached inside her jacket to touch each of the two hidden pockets, one containing her notebook, the other her mother’s journal. She pulled out her notebook and drew a quick sketch of the Rider, trying to catch the firmness of his profile and the way his mouth curved up at the corners when he smiled at something one of his men had said.

      About six-three, she wrote beside the sketch. Lean and agile, but well-muscled. Darketan, with Opir teeth, human features and ability to walk in daylight. Hair dark auburn, eyes gray with violet tint; purple indicates Opir blood. Small scar above left eyebrow.

      And handsome, she thought, her pencil hovering above the page. She couldn’t write that in her notebook.

      She woke from her thoughts when the half-blood broke away from his men, clearly looking for someone, and stopped when he found Greg. The two men began to speak softly, Greg gesturing with obvious irritation.

      Tucking her notebook away, Jamie inched her way toward Greg and the Rider leader. She was able to get close to them without leaving the partial cover of the wagon, and knelt beside the rear wheel to listen.

      “...so late,” Greg was saying, his voice pitched high. “Do you have any idea what they could have done to us?”

      “I can only apologize again,” the Rider said in a steady voice. “It was very bad timing on our part.”

      “And will you be ready the next time?”

      A tense silence fell between the two men. Jamie stared at the Rider’s profile. Moonlight rested on the planes of his face and shadowed his pale eyes.

      Be careful, Greg, she thought. The Riders might be completely neutral, allied with no one group or race, but instinct told her that this Rider wouldn’t suffer fools gladly. And Greg was acting like a fool.

      “The Councilman’s goddaughter was forced to go to that barbarian,” Greg said, fists clenched. “He could have sucked her dry, or worse.”

      Light played on the Rider’s lower lip as the corner twitched upward. “She’s obviously a brave young woman. Have you spoken to her?”

      Greg’s jaw bunched. “I was just on my way to see her.”

      “Then I won’t hold you up any longer.” The Rider stepped gracefully aside, gesturing for Greg to walk past him. Jamie ducked under the wagon and crouched there, breathing a little fast.

      Greg stalked away, but Jamie continued to watch the Rider as he scanned the camp and set off again with long, ground-eating strides. Jamie scooted out from under the wagon and followed him at a discreet distance.

      Her godfather was talking with the two medics, Akesha and Don, when the Rider found him. Amos broke off with a reassuring smile and gave the half-blood his full attention. Jamie joined her friends, pretending to listen to their excited retelling of the attack as she focused on the other conversation.

      “Didn’t realize I was talking to the wrong man,” the Rider said as he shook her godfather’s hand. “The Senator gave me the impression that he was in charge here.”

      “He would,” Amos said with a slight smile. “But it doesn’t matter. It would be difficult to stand on ceremony over such a long journey.”

      “I’m glad you feel that way,” the Rider said, releasing Parks’s hand. “I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself. My name is Timon, of the Kestrel Band.”

      “Timon,” Amos acknowledged. “Needless to say, I’m very pleased to meet you. There’s no danger of the raiders returning?”

      “None.” Timon glanced around him. “I’m told there were only minor injuries. Is there anything else we should know about?”

      “It’s all under control, thanks to your men. And I want to express my gratitude for what you did for my goddaughter.”

      Timon made a dismissive gesture with a gloved hand. “I did nothing but help her up after the raiders fled. She’s a brave young woman.”

      “I wish I could send her back.”

      “Why?” Timon asked, cocking his head.

      Jamie tensed, but she missed her godfather’s next words when Don raised his voice to relate some particularly exciting moment of the battle between raiders and Riders.

      “No one can be spared to take her back to your Enclave,” Timon said when she could hear him again. “But she’ll be all right. There are four of us now, and we expect three others to join us before we reach old San Jose.”

      “Rest assured that I won’t be doubting or questioning your judgment,” Amos said. “We’re in your hands.”