Slight and Shadow (Fate's Forsaken: Book Two)

by Ford, Shae

  Kael shoved the letters into his pocket, his heart hammering. “Did you touch the spell?”

  Eveningwing looked confused. “No. Maybe. What spell?”

  Kael pointed to it and Eveningwing dropped down on his knees, squinting at the floor. “I can’t see it. I don’t have mage’s eyes.”

  But Kael didn’t hear him: he was far too busy staring in horror at the orange light that had suddenly materialized outside the cottage door — a light that grew steadily brighter as someone plodded up the stairs.

  Chapter 23

  Scalybones

  There were no other doors out of the cottage, and the holes in the roof weren’t nearly large enough to climb out of. Kael searched frantically for a means of escape, but they were completely trapped — cut off by whoever was coming up the stairs.

  “Hello?”

  Kael froze when a pale face appeared in the doorway. A mage in nightclothes glared sleepily about him, waving his lantern halfheartedly in the darkness. After a quick moment, he seemed to give up. With a sigh and a muttered string of curses, he reached to close the door.

  Eveningwing, whose face was still inches from the dusty floor, chose that very moment to let out a loud sneeze.

  “What — what was that?” The lantern light swelled to a blaze as the mage leapt inside. He saw Kael immediately — standing in open-mouthed shock before the desk — and a tail of fire erupted from his fingers.

  Kael acted quickly. He leapt in front of Eveningwing and hurled the curved knife in the same breath. Fire washed over him, the taint of magic burned his nose. He gasped against it for a moment.

  Then he caught the smell of something far worse.

  His knife had struck true. The mage’s lantern hung limp in his hand. He pulled the knife from his chest and stood, gaping at it. Blood leaked out from his wound. The stench of magic filled the air like a cloud. Kael could taste it in his throat, on his tongue. He had to stop it. He had to stop that blood …

  The next thing he knew, Eveningwing’s arm was around his neck. Kael couldn’t breathe. He didn’t know how long he’d gone without breathing. His limbs went numb and his head rocked backwards as his chin struck the ground. Only then did Eveningwing release him.

  They were outside — he could feel dirt scratching at his face. The world spun as Eveningwing rolled him onto his back. Two amber eyes blinked down at him.

  “You tried to — kill me,” Kael gasped, clutching his sore throat.

  Eveningwing shook his head vigorously. “No no — I saved you. You were killing him so loudly that I knew someone would hear —”

  “Killing who?” Kael forgot about his pain and shot up to look in the direction Eveningwing pointed.

  The mage’s body lay a few paces in front of them. His lantern was shattered and lying on its side, its light extinguished. Kael could see the knife hilt sticking out of his chest. A dark puddle glittered under his torso.

  Eveningwing crouched at Kael’s side, his brows raised so high that they’d disappeared into the crop of his hair. “Now I see why you lied to the giants about freeing me — you’re a Marked One.”

  “A what?” Kael said hoarsely. He still couldn’t believe what he’d done. He stared at the mage, blinking furiously and hoping that it was all just a horrible dream.

  “A servant of Fate,” Eveningwing went on. When Kael still looked confused, he drew a line down his chest with the side of his hand. “You have the mark.”

  Kael’s hand went to his chest instinctively. He could feel the red, raised scar even from under the fibers of his shirt, and he knew he’d been found out. “Please don’t tell anyone,” he said, trying to think of a way he might explain it clearly. “Bad things will happen to me if the giants discover what I am.”

  “Of course not,” Eveningwing replied, sticking a finger to his lips. His eyes darted down to Kael’s chest, and he fidgeted.

  “Fine. But only this once,” Kael muttered. He raised his shirt and watched the awe light Eveningwing’s face.

  “I’ve only ever heard stories,” he said, eyeing the mark. Then he sat back and his face became serious. “I think Bloodfang would’ve been pleased. He would’ve wanted to die fighting such a worthy opponent.”

  Kael didn’t want to talk about Bloodfang. His heart was still too raw. Besides, there were far more pressing problems to solve. He looked back at the mage. “What are we going to do with him?”

  “I think you’ve killed him enough.”

  “No, that’s not what I meant. We can’t leave him out in the open …” An idea came to him, and he pointed back to the cottage. “Get the sheets off the bed. I’ll meet you back here.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To find some rocks.”

  He found several the size of his fist laying around the courtyard, and one the size of his head. He stuffed the smaller rocks into the mage’s clothes, trying not to look at his wounds.

  There were quite a few of them.

  When Eveningwing returned, he pulled the blade free and offered it back to Kael. But he wouldn’t take it. “Look at what I’ve done,” he said, waving to the mage. “I completely lost control. There’s no telling what horrible thing I’ll do next.”

  “You weren’t being horrible — you were protecting yourself. And me,” Eveningwing added with a smile. But when Kael still refused, he stuffed the blade into his pocket, muttering that he’d hold onto it for a while.

  They worked quickly: setting the mage on the sheets with the rocks and tying it up tightly. When everything was secure, they carried him to the latrines. Kael took the brunt of the weight while Eveningwing staggered along behind him and kept the mage’s legs from dragging the ground.

  Kael only had to follow the stench to find the Pens’ latrine: it was festering line scored deep into the earth — as wide as a man, stretched the length of several giants, and filled to the brim with the foulest brand of filth that Kael had ever stumbled across.

  On any other occasion, the smell alone might’ve sent them running in the other direction. But tonight, the latrine would serve them well.

  They tipped the mage over the edge, and the filth immediately sucked his body down — stirring up such a horrible stench that it knocked Kael backwards. He felt his meager dinner rise up in his throat, but somehow managed to swallow it back.

  Eveningwing was not as lucky: his rabbit came up so violently that he nearly tripped in his rush to get away. “Humans are so — filthy!” he coughed, dragging his sleeve across his mouth. “Why would you pile your waste? Leave it in the grass and let the rain take care of it!”

  Kael managed to drag him away, but he still caught Eveningwing glaring back at the latrine every few steps, a look of disgust on his face.

  *******

  Morning came far too early. Kael hadn’t slept at all that night: his stomach twisted and bubbled, making any sort of rest impossible. He thought constantly about the mage — and about how foolish he’d been.

  There was no telling the sort of chaos the mage’s death would cause. What would happen when the others found him missing? Gilderick would probably ride down from his castle and begin lopping off heads immediately. Would he torture the mages? Flay the guards?

  Or … would he blame the slaves?

  Kael’s blood chilled at the thought. If that happened, he knew he would have no choice but to give himself up. He wouldn’t let anybody else die for his mistake.

  With that grim realization, he spent the night staring out of the hole in the roof, his ears clogged with the giants’ contented rumblings. It was amazing how beautiful the stars looked, when he thought it might very well be his last chance to see them.

  The doors screeched open at dawn, and Kael joined the silent line of giants as they plodded out of the stall. He was so lost in dark thoughts that he didn’t notice that Brend had stopped — until he’d already bounced off of him.

  “Steady, wee rat,” Brend said as he plucked him from the ground.

  None of the
giants had made it out of the door. They were stuck in the aisle, crowded together and grumbling sleepily to one another. The Fallows shoved their way through, walking dumbly towards the exit.

  Kael couldn’t see over the wall of brawny shoulders in front of him. When he asked Brend what was going on, he shrugged.

  “Eh, I can’t see all that well. Just about the time I go to stand on my tippy-toes, the fellow in front of me has the same idea.” He shifted his weight impatiently for a moment before he finally began shoving his way forward.

  Kael grabbed hold of the back of his shirt and followed in his wake. Brend was not as thick as most of the others, so he was able to slide through the cracks between bodies. It didn’t take him long to weave his way to the front of the line.

  When he saw what awaited them, he let out a furious growl.

  News of the mage’s death must have already reached the castle. Now a horde of Gilderick’s guards swarmed the area around the water troughs. They lifted things and looked beneath them, poked tentatively through the high grass with their pikes, and generally tried to keep their eyes away from the barns — where the slaves were growing restless.

  They crushed together, leaning out as far as they dared. “Bloodtraitors,” Brend hissed, loudly enough for the closest guards to hear him. “Blood-suckers and cowards, every one. Oh, what I wouldn’t give for a go at them — any one of them! I’d thresh their flesh from their bones with my bare hands.”

  The other giants seemed to feel the same way. In fact, Kael thought the only thing that kept them from starting a war right then and there was Finks: he stood in front of the door, his legs splayed and his whip unfurled. Dangerous-looking blue light danced and crackled down the length of it.

  Just when Kael feared the giants might surge forward anyways, two familiar figures cut in front of the door.

  The first man was Hob. He spat in angry lines, waved his hands about, and nearly had to lean the whole way back to glare into the face of the giant he spoke to.

  General Dred was just as hideous as Kael had remembered him. Though now he had a fresh purple bruise on his cheek to add to his horrible, lip-curling scar. “Tell me the truth, spellmonger,” he growled. The sharp edges of his teeth poked out from under his warped lip, making him look more menacing than usual. “If you’ve figured out someway around the spell —”

  “Then we’d be long gone by now, I can promise you that.” Hob pulled on the sleeve of his tunic, revealing the iron shackle clamped around his wrist. “There. Satisfied?”

  Dred’s scowl deepened. “His Lordship demands an explanation, and I intend to get one.”

  “Well, then maybe he should’ve sent someone other than a stone-headed giant.” Hob’s mouth bent into a mean little smile. “Was there any evidence? Did Stodder leave a note behind? Think about that carefully, now.”

  It was obvious that Dred was desperate for help, because he ignored Hob’s taunting and thought. “We found a smashed lantern and a puddle of blood in the courtyard,” he said after a moment. “Maybe the lions got him.”

  Hob rolled his eyes. “Sure, they probably popped the door right open and dragged him down the stairs.”

  “Well, maybe he wandered out into the courtyard.”

  “Why would he do that? He knew there were lions!”

  Dred turned to glare at the barn. “Maybe one of them did it.”

  Hob grinned — and spat a generous amount of his chew out between his front teeth. “The slaves? You think one of these slobbering oafs slipped his way out around our spells? That’s got to be the stupidest thing I’ve heard since you opened your mouth. Oh no, General — it looks like you’re stuck,” he said gleefully. “Can’t say that I envy you. I certainly wouldn’t want to be the one to break the news to Gilderick.”

  For a moment, Dred looked as if he’d very much like to wrap one of his massive arms around Hob’s head and pop it from his shoulders. But he seemed to decide against it. Instead, his lips twisted into an unsettling smile. “And I don’t envy you, mage — whatever got Stodder is still out there. You’d better hope we find it quickly … or you might just be next.”

  Hob’s face pinched tightly around his chew. Finks, who’d been listening in, went slightly pale. And Dred seemed to think his work was finished. He ordered his men back to the castle with a wave of his bulging arm. He’d gone to stride off when Brend suddenly shouted:

  “That’s a right nasty bruise, General!” He thrust a finger at the mark on Dred’s face and said, even more loudly: “See how His Lordship kicks his loyal dog?”

  His shouting drew a round of raucous laughter from the giants in the barn. They whistled and slapped their knees, daring Dred to come closer. And unfortunately, he did.

  Kael cringed when Dred stomped towards them. The knotted tangles of muscle that lined his arms bulged out, and his thick veins strained against their swelling. Brend should’ve just kept his mouth shut: there was no way they could hope to beat Dred, if he decided to pummel them.

  Just when Kael was preparing himself to be snapped in two, Dred suddenly stopped. He stood an arm’s reach from Brend, glaring at something behind them. After a moment, his warped lip fell back over his teeth and he spun away. It was only after he’d marched several yards into the distance that Kael dared to look back.

  Declan stood behind them; his face was calm and his arms were crossed tightly over his hulking chest. He watched unblinkingly as Dred retreated. His stony eyes seemed to hang onto the general’s back.

  “So not today, then,” he whispered, so faintly that Kael had to strain to hear him. “But someday soon, Dred. Someday soon.”

  *******

  Once the guards left the Fields, the giants went on with their chores as usual. Kael collected his scythe and satchel and followed his team down the road.

  Relief swept over him like a flood. The knot in his stomach came unraveled, and he breathed as if a massive weight had just been lifted from his chest. No one seemed to think that the slaves had anything to do with Stodder’s disappearance. In fact, it sounded as if they thought the very idea was impossible.

  Kael knew he’d been incredibly lucky, but that didn’t stop him from smiling.

  All of the weariness left his bones. He swore the air smelled cleaner; the sun didn’t shine so hot. Nothing could dampen his spirits — not even a beating from Finks could’ve wiped the grin off his face.

  Speaking of Finks … he thought it odd that he hadn’t already gotten a beating. He’d been assigned to oversee their team, after all. And usually anytime Finks was in charge, he’d flay them into a run. When Kael checked behind him, he couldn’t help but notice that Finks looked rather distracted.

  He walked carefully, as if the ground had spines growing out of it and he wasn’t sure where to step. His head whipped to the left and right, and his eyes combed frantically through the high grass. He must’ve been taking Dred’s warning pretty seriously.

  When Kael pointed him out, Brend’s eyes glinted so brightly that they practically put off a light of their own. “Oh, I can’t pass this up — it’s too good! What do you say we play a little joke on our favorite spell-flinger?”

  Kael was certainly up for that. After he agreed to play along and look mightily appalled, Brend’s mischief started up.

  “Ho there, Declan — was that a full moon we had last night?”

  Declan slowed until they were even. He caught Brend’s look and nodded gravely. “Yeh, that it was. And now all of our little seedlings have sprouted,” he said, waving his hand out at the fresh green tuffs across the fields. “Some mightily strange magic must’ve crossed our lands last night … and you know what that means.”

  Brend shivered. “Yes, but it gives me the tremblings to think about it! Dark things start happening when Scalybones comes to visit.”

  “Guard your scalps, lads,” a giant in front of them hollered. “Or Scalybones’ll strip them from you!”

  There was such a convincing murmur of agreement from the others th
at it must have caught Finks’s attention. He forced his way into their line, trotting to catch up with Brend. “What’s this nonsense about?” he snapped, brandishing his whip. “If you’re trying to use your tales to get out of work —”

  “Oh no, master — it’s no tale,” Brend said, holding his hands up defensively. “Every son of the plains has heard of Scalybones. He wanders all across our lands, moving from well to well.”

  “He lives in wells?” Finks said skeptically. His lips parted in a serpent-like grin. “You giants really are the Kingdom’s idiots.”

  “Scaly prefers the damp and the dark,” Brend said with a shrug. “So the bottom of a well is the perfect place.”

  “But how does he breathe?”

  “He doesn’t need to. He’s a specter.”

  Finks’s eyes flicked tightly around the giants’ circle, obviously searching for some hint of a joke. But they did a remarkable job of keeping their faces serious. “You’re telling me that you believe a ghost is haunting your precious plains?” he finally said, with a heavy coating of disdain. “And you think he climbs out of his well at night to … what? Scalp you?”

  Brend sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, master. I shouldn’t have troubled you with our stories. It’s just that, after what happened to Master Stodder —”

  “What happened to him?” Finks thrust his whip under Brend’s chin. “If you know something, you’d better speak.”

  “I don’t know anything in particular —”

  “What do you know, then?”

  Kael thought Brend was playing a dangerous game. Finks looked angry enough to beat the skin off his back — or worse, turn him over to Dred. He was trying to think of a way to get Brend out of trouble when Declan spoke:

  “No man is safe, once Scalybones comes to visit,” he said, as if it were as clear a fact as the color of the sky. “When we were children, men used to disappear from the fields all the time. They’d be swept away without any explanation — naught but a splatter of blood left behind. Things had gotten so bad that our mums wouldn’t dare let us out after dark. When strange things start to happen, sometimes ole Scaly is the only explanation,” he shrugged, “whether you believe in him or not. That’s all Brend’s trying to say, master.”