by Shae Ford
Jonathan shoved him. “What do you know about it?”
“I’ve lived it.”
The fiddler’s pace slowed under the lash of Jake’s reply, but he recovered quickly. The whole party watched in silence as he marched away.
“Go. Follow him,” Lysander said with a wave of his hand.
Nadine and the giants went first, followed closely by the pirates. Jake wandered along at the rear, his yellow orb lighting up their backs.
“Aren’t you coming, Captain?” Morris said.
Lysander sighed heavily. “I’ll be along in a moment. Go on without me. That’s an order,” he added, when Morris hesitated.
“All right, all right. No need to go snapping at me,” Morris grumbled as he wandered off. “There’s something odd about this place, I tell you. It’s turning us against each other, sucking all the sunshine from under our boots. Gives me the shivers, it does …”
As Morris’s muttering grew faint, Lysander knelt at Garron’s grave. The light from Jake’s orb still shone brightly enough to illuminate the treasures decorating its top.
Lysander’s hand clenched at his side. “Ah, I don’t suppose you’d remember me. I was only a little thing when we met, and you were neck-deep in glory. I’m afraid I don’t have much to offer you, either. It seems strange for a pirate to leave a friend something as silly as gold. But I can offer you this.”
He drew the Lass from its sheath and dragged the edge across his palm. Dark red lines bloomed from between his fingers. They slid from his fist and spattered on the rocks, glittering alongside the trinkets.
“I’ll love her till the day I die, and I’ll defend her with my life — even if she gives me nothing but daughters. I’m sorry,” he said with a smile. “You probably didn’t find that too terribly funny, but I’m scared out of my wits about becoming a father. I’m nervous as a man tied to the bow of a sinking ship —”
“Are you coming, Captain?” Jake called. He peered at the graves from over the top of his spectacles. “Who are you talking to?”
Lysander sprang to his feet and thrust his sword back into his belt. “Nobody. I was just, ah, paying my respects.”
*******
At last, the long dark of Bartholomew’s Pass gave way to the cheery green of the Valley. The pirates and the giants stepped out from the shattered gouge in the mountains with a sigh of relief.
Warmth and the bright yellow sun greeted them; thick carpets of grass swayed on either side of the road. The pirates smiled and stretched their arms high overhead, drinking in the calm beauty before them.
But the giants struggled magnificently.
The rolling lands of the Valley were quite a bit different from the flatness of the plains, and it wasn’t long before the giants’ steps grew heavy. They panted as they trudged up each new hill — and complained heartily the whole way down.
“It makes the journey twice as long, having to climb up and over. Somebody ought to flatten this mess out!”
“Take a look there, would you? They’ve done their planting all along the bumps. Their crops are growing sideways!”
“Plains mother, I’d hate to be the poor clodder who had to plow my way up that.”
“I’d rather be him than the clodder who had to plow his way down. You’d have to run mightily fast to keep the blade off your heels.”
They grumbled for three days straight before Nadine finally put her spear down. “Enough! You would chase the crows away with all of your squawking. These are not tall — this is nothing. How will you ever climb the mountains if you cannot even climb a hill without losing your breath?”
“I haven’t lost it,” Declan panted from behind her. “It’s just a little short, is all. And you ought not to stick your head where it doesn’t belong, mote —”
“Mot!”
“Yeh, well when we need to learn about sand-raking, we’ll ask you.” He held up one thick finger. “But farming is a giant’s business.”
Nadine raised her chin. “My people carved their farms from a mountain’s flesh. If you saw how steeply they sat, your large hearts would burst with shock. It does not matter how flat the land is. It only matters how good it is.” And with that, she strode away.
“I think she may have had a point there, General,” one of the giants panted.
Declan watched after her, eyes hidden beneath the shadow of his brow. “Yeh, and the point is we’d better get moving. I’m not letting some cricket-legged sandbeater walk out in front of me.”
Though the giants certainly did their fair share of stomping, they made good time. Jonathan led the way at his usual loping pace, whistling a horrible, off-key ballad in time with his stride — while the pirates spent most of their time swiping fresh rations from obliging fields. When night fell, they camped off the road and slept beneath the stars.
Or rather, they tried to sleep. But Jake’s light made things difficult.
“My spells for lamplight never quite worked,” he explained. “They always just wound up becoming fire bursts — which of course burn very brightly, but can be rather … destructive, in closed spaces. This is a spell of my own invention: a blinding spell for light, a shielding spell for containment, and a some very minor levitation.”
“That’s all well and good, lad. But couldn’t you at least snuff it out while we’re sleeping?” Morris grumbled. He lay on his back with a stocky arm thrown over his eyes, frowning through his beard.
Jake fiddled with his gloves. “Ah, I’m afraid that’s the problem. I haven’t exactly figured out how to take it down.”
“You mean it’s stuck up there?” one of the giants said.
They laughed when he nodded.
“That’s nothing to chuckle about,” Lysander said severely. His eyes flicked to the shadows around them. “We’ll be spotted for miles. You might as well write our names in the sky while you’re at it. I’d hate to catch our enemies by surprise.”
“This is the Valley, mate. The only trouble you’re likely to run into around here is a few tinheads from Midlan or a ragged bunch of bandits,” Jonathan said. “Either way, it’s nothing a stomp of giants couldn’t handle.”
They grunted in agreement.
“So just relax and try to work that bunch out of your fancy white knickers, will you?”
Lysander frowned at him. “Keep that up, fiddler, and I’ll replace you with a map.”
Jonathan grinned.
“Why do you not simply knock it down?” Nadine muttered from under her blanket.
Jake straightened his spectacles. “Well, that’s complicated — or rather, it could cause some very serious complications. At the very least, you could expect some discomfort.”
Lysander raised his brows. “Such as …?”
“Permanent blindness to anybody within a quarter mile who’s got his eyes open. But if we’re lucky, maybe only temporary blindness.”
“Nobody touch that thing,” Declan commanded. “Just cover your wee heads and sleep tight. If anything wanders into camp, leave it to the giants.”
After a few days of an empty sky, Eveningwing finally reappeared. They caught glimpses of his great wings as he soared behind the rolling clouds. Sometimes he flew so low that his shadow crossed their boots. At night, he roosted in the trees at the edge of camp. But nothing anybody said could convince him to come down.
“You need to apologize,” Lysander insisted.
Jonathan’s whistling had stopped the moment Eveningwing returned. Now he spent nearly as much time glaring up at the sky as he did watching the road. “I’ve got nothing to say.”
“He couldn’t help it.”
“He knew what he was doing.”
“I’m not so sure he did.”
“Well, he sure remembered it clearly enough. Look,” Jonathan stopped, and the merry glint of his eyes turned dark, “I know you think good of him. And I know you’d like to believe he’s human, but he’s not. Garron warned us a long time ago to never trust a barbarian. He was the one who convi
nced Countess D’Mere to keep them pinned in the swamps, after all. He wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t think it was for the best. And now I see why.”
“There’s good and evil among the shapechangers just like there is among men. The curse might’ve forced him to do some dreadful things, but Eveningwing is a good hawk. Give him a chance to prove himself,” Lysander said quietly.
But Jonathan didn’t relent. If anything, his eyes only grew darker. “There’s honor among humans, but animals think only of themselves. When the time comes, you’ll see it. You might think he’s your friend now, Captain — but he’s going to do whatever he can to save his own skin. Even if that means trampling you flat.” Jonathan watched Eveningwing’s looping path for a moment before he muttered: “He’s probably got some sort of trap in mind for us. If he wasn’t flying out of bow range, I would’ve already shot him down.”
Lysander said no more after that, and Jonathan seemed content to shove it aside. Slowly, the merry glint came back to his eyes and he spent less time glaring at the clouds.
But if Eveningwing’s shadow ever crossed overhead, his face would darken quickly.
*******
The pirates and the giants traveled for days without incident, rarely meeting another soul on the road. Then one afternoon, Eveningwing startled them with a screech.
“What is it?” Nadine called up to him.
Morris grunted. “Eh, he’s probably just after a rabbit.”
Lysander’s chin jutted out as he traced the hawk’s frantic pattern of loops. “No, we worked that signal out before we left. It means there’s trouble up ahead. Form ranks, dogs!” he barked, and the pirates fell in behind him.
Declan rapped his scythe across his breastplate. “Giants to the front! Keep those wee pirates out of harm’s way.”
“That won’t be necessary. We’re quite all right on our own,” Lysander said.
He led his men through the gaps between giants, forming an uneven mass of bodies that sloped off either edge of the road. Lysander and Declan marched side by side, each trying to out-order the other.
“Easy does it, dogs. We don’t want to give ourselves away —”
“Easy does nothing. Pound your feet, clodders! Let them hear what’s coming!”
“Let them have a chance to arm themselves, you mean? Whatever happened to the element of s —?”
The rest of what Lysander had to say was swallowed up by the ear-rattling thud of the giants’ march. While the men tried to out-yell each other, Nadine broke away and sprinted up the hill. Her mouth fell open when she reached the top.
“What is it, lass?” Morris called.
Nadine waved them forward. “Come quickly!”
Lysander and Declan sprinted to her side, their armies close behind. They spread out along the top of the hill and stared down at the land below.
The giants fell silent. The pirates swore.
A line of people filled the road beneath them, winding back as far as the eye could see. Dirt rose in clouds behind their shuffling feet. Many of them staggered under the weight of hefty rucksacks. They led livestock by their reins — some pulled carts filled with what looked to be all of their possessions.
It was an endless, miserable exodus: men and women in tattered clothes, gasping between coughs, staring through glassy eyes. Several limped along in the ditches, their feet wrapped in bloody cloths. But no matter how they struggled, the whole broken line moved stubbornly towards the Pass.
Behind them, the green of the Valley gave way to ashen gray, and black smoke overtook the horizon.
“Plains mother,” Declan hissed. “Who’s done this to them? Was it Titus?”
Morris shook his head. “He doesn’t burn the land like that. Oh, he’ll level their homes and murder their children, but I’ve never heard of him wrecking good soil. He’s always thinking about what he can gain, see.” He waved a stocky arm at the gray horizon. “There’s nothing to gain from this.”
When the people at the head of the line spotted the army standing above them, they slowed. Their eyes widened and they muttered to one another. A few reluctantly drew their swords.
“Get away from the road. You are frightening them,” Nadine said. She shooed the pirates into the ditches and made the giants stand a good distance further.
Slowly, the line began to move again. A man dressed in leather armor walked at the head of the tattered crowd. He used his sword for a cane, digging the point into the earth as he plodded up the hill. His other arm was wrapped in a bloody sling.
“Hang tight a minute, gents. I’ll see what I can find out.” Jonathan slipped up to the armored man, wearing his most charming smile. “Ahoy there, mate. Mind if I walk with you a bit?”
While he talked to the armored man, the rest of the party watched in disbelief as the line of people trudged by.
“It’s mostly Valley folk, but there are some mountain folk here, too,” Morris said as his watery eyes flicked across some heads of flaming red hair.
“There are children with them,” Nadine moaned.
She watched as a clump of redheaded children stumbled along behind their mother, clinging to her skirts. Exhaustion ringed their eyes and made their mouths sag. They seemed able to stand only by the will of their tiny legs.
“We must do something. We cannot let them suffer.” Nadine took a step towards them, but Jake held her back.
“We will do something,” he said quietly. “These people have a clear path to the seas — they’ll soon have food and a safe place to sleep. We’re going to guard their backs.” His thin fingers tightened about her shoulder. “We’re going to make sure they make it to safety.”
“Aye. And the less they have to do with us, the better,” Morris agreed. “What we’re planning is treason, in case you’ve forgotten. They’re going to want to pass us fast and forget us quickly.”
While the others murmured to each other, Declan said nothing. He stood with his thick arms crossed over his chest. A shadow cloaked his eyes.
Suddenly, a crazed laugh drew their eyes back to the armored man. He cackled hysterically and slapped Jonathan on the arm before he went back to plodding his way up the hill.
“Well? What did he say?” Lysander said as Jonathan came back to them.
“I knew that fellow. He was one of the guards at Crow’s Cross — I used to swindle him pretty good at cards. But I think he might’ve … cracked.” Jonathan frowned as he glanced over his shoulder.
Lysander raised his brows. “Cracked how?”
“You know … he was crazed. Running on rusted wheels. A few rungs short —”
“Yes, yes I know what cracked means,” Lysander said impatiently. “But why was he cracked? What happened to him?”
“Was it Titus?” Declan called.
Jonathan shook his head. “All he kept saying was that some fellow named Grognaut did this. Grognaut the Bandit Lord.”
Chapter 19
The Caddocs
Kael spent the next several days learning everything he could about carpentry. He cut planks from logs, shaped chairs from branches, and carved stories into wood. When the craftsmen thought he was ready, they taught him how to build a house.
It was an exacting task. Every notch and peg had to fit together perfectly. Every layer of the wall had to sit firmly on the one beneath it, and every crack had to be sealed to keep out the winter frost. Though the building was certainly complicated, it was actually the sealing that gave them the most trouble.
The craftsmen used a thick paste to set the logs of each house together — a sticky resin that dried quickly and set like stone. And unfortunately, it was one of the few tasks Baird could do.
He terrorized them constantly. The craftsmen’s song broke whenever he wandered in; the steady rhythm of their work cantered off-pace and dissolved into chaos. Baird wielded his mop and bucket every bit as effectively as a dragon’s flame, stirring up panic wherever he went.
Planks were set crookedly, doors got stuck to w
alls. More than once, a craftsman had his feet glued to the floor. Kael looked away for five minutes and Baird had managed to slather a generous portion of resin to the wrong end of an unset plank. When Griffith tried to lift it, the plank stuck to his fingers. They had to spend several minutes chiseling through a thick layer of paste just to get his hands free.
Kael begged Gwen to put the beggar-bard somewhere — anywhere — else, but she refused. “He’s a craftsman, so he’ll do a craftsman’s work.”
“But he’s blind,” Kael said evenly. “He can’t see to do a craftsman’s work.”
She shoved him aside. “I don’t have time to solve all of your petty little problems, mutt. Figure it out for yourself.”
It had become clear very early on that he could expect no help from the wildmen: the craftsmen didn’t seem to know much of anything beyond their carpentry, and the warriors were downright mean. So Kael knew that if he wanted to do something about Baird, he’d have to figure it out for himself.
He was working on digging a knot out of one of the logs when he suddenly had an idea. He remembered what Griffith had said about how healers always cried around wounds, yet Kael had never cried. Perhaps he hadn’t been healing like a healer at all …
Perhaps he’d been healing like a craftsman.
It was a wild idea, a single loose thread that’d popped free of a tangled mass, and Kael tugged on it carefully. When he sealed a wound, he thought about the flesh and bone like clay — a material he knew well and could manipulate easily. Was it really that difficult to believe that instead of healing, he’d simply been putting the skin back together? No, it wasn’t difficult. In fact, it made perfect sense. And if he could turn flesh into clay …
Kael stopped. He stood and went to the nearest section of wall, nearly tripping over his boots in the rush. Once he had his hands placed firmly on the seam between logs, he concentrated.
You are clay.
Slowly, the unrelenting flesh of the wood began to soften. He held onto his memories of clay and kneaded them into the logs, forcing it through the first several inches of pine. When they were soft, he pulled them together. He dragged their skin over one another until they fused into one solid plank.