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

by Ford, Shae

  Kael wasn’t so sure. He thought Brend looked rather pale.

  *******

  Early the next morning, Kael woke to someone poking frantically in his ear. He batted the hand away and blinked back the fog of sleep until a very worried-looking Eveningwing came into focus.

  “What is it?” Kael said groggily. “And what were you doing in my ear?”

  “I was trying to be quiet,” he whispered back. “I wanted to tell you something. But I wasn’t sure where to poke —”

  “Never mind,” Kael mumbled, not wanting to try to follow whatever ridiculous path of reason the boy had come up with. “What did you want to tell me?”

  “The swordbearers — the …” he squinched his eyes shut tightly, “the guards — they’re gone.”

  Kael sat up straight, rubbing impatiently at the sleep in his eyes. “What do you mean they’re gone? They can’t just be gone.”

  “A great noise called them back to the castle,” Eveningwing said, shifting his weight anxiously. “It sounded like a very large goose. Or perhaps a duck —”

  Kael clamped a hand over his mouth as the cry of a battle horn trembled through the air. Its song was low and steady, a single note that had no meaning to him, but he knew very well might spell trouble.

  “It was that,” Eveningwing said when Kael released him.

  “Are we under attack?”

  “I don’t think so —”

  But they didn’t get a chance to discuss it any further. The stall doors screeched open, and Kael hurried outside ahead of the others. He was one of the first in the courtyard. All across the Fields, the sprouts of fresh green lay sleepily in the earth, blanketed in a heavy layer of shimmering dew. His eyes combed across the thin morning mist, searching for a banner, or the telling glint of swords. But he saw nothing amiss — the land was quiet.

  Kael still wasn’t convinced. He spotted Brend crouched over one of the water troughs and went after him at a run. “Where are the guards?” he said when he reached him.

  Brend looked up. His eyes were glassy and out of focus. He stared blearily at Kael for a few moments before he seemed to recognize him. “Ho there, wee rat,” he mumbled.

  His words trailed into a cough. It sounded as if he had a loose bone rattling inside his chest. When Kael asked if he was all right, he waved his hand impatiently. “I already told you — it’s just the sniffles. Now, what are you shouting about?”

  Kael hadn’t been shouting about anything, but he lowered his voice and said it again.

  Brend didn’t seem too concerned. He glanced around at the empty land and shrugged. “Oh, Gilderick’s probably just called them back for the Sowing Moon. He likes to keep his army close by, when others are around — and he knows we’ll all behave because we don’t want to get chosen.”

  Kael didn’t understand three words of that. Brend wandered off, and he followed at a trot. “What’s the Sowing Moon?”

  “It’s a festival,” Brend said hoarsely. His brow creased in frustration and he cleared his throat. “It used to be a grand thing. All of the clans would gather together to celebrate the growth of their crops and the birth of their calves. There was food and drink, and games, too. A young man could win honor in the games,” Brend smiled, “or the hand of the one he loved. See there?”

  He held a finger up to the sky, where a faint outline of the moon still clung stubbornly to its perch. Its rounded halves were a bit uneven.

  “In three days time, all of our crops will have sprouted and that moon will be full.”

  The Tinnarkians had always used the changes in the weather to mark their days, so it was strange to think that the giants followed the moon. Though Kael supposed it made sense: except for a light frost in winter, the weather in the plains was always warm and fair. Their days might run together if they didn’t keep track of the moon.

  “And you say that Lord Gilderick still celebrates the Sowing Moon?”

  “Yes … in his way,” Brend said darkly. “Though he’s twisted it to the point that hardly anybody can stomach it. Even the Five don’t stick around —”

  “Wait a moment,” Kael interrupted, his heart pounding. “You mean to say that in three days time, the Five will be here? With their armies and everything?”

  “No, it’s not all that. Hardly anybody ever accepts — clodded leaky eyes!” Brend cursed, wiping them impatiently with the back of his sleeve. When he blinked, Kael couldn’t help but think that his eyes were a little more bloodshot than they’d been before. “The Earl’s usually too drunk to stay on his horse, and it’s not nearly a grand enough event to interest the Duke. No, Baron Sahar and Countess D’Mere are the only ones who ever come out: he’s here early, and she arrives late — both try to be gone before the games.”

  Brend had to cough a few more times before he found the breath to carry on. “I think Sahar only comes for the food. Desert fare is stringy at best, and Gilderick owes him a couple of castles. So the Baron stocks his larders a few times a year in payment. Gilderick’s castle burned down twice — can you believe it?”

  Kael certainly believed it. In fact, he happened to know the mischievous halfdragon who’d been responsible for the fires. He tried to steer the conversation back to the festival. “What happens at the games?”

  Brend swallowed hard, and from the way he grimaced, it must’ve been painful. “I can’t say, wee rat. All we know is that the day of the Sowing Moon, the mages choose a couple of slaves and send them up to the castle. They usually pick the sickliest ones, or some of those fellows from the seas. But the slaves that get chosen don’t ever come back — not even as Fallows. I’m not sure what happens to them, but it can’t be pleasant.”

  The information about the Sowing Moon was interesting, but Kael still didn’t understand why Gilderick would risk leaving the slaves unwatched. Even the mages didn’t seem too concerned: Hob stayed holed up in his cottage for a good portion of the morning, and only ventured out at midday. The whole thing made Kael uneasy.

  The sun had begun to set when he finally got his answer.

  A chorus of voices drew his eyes from the weeding, and he watched in amazement as a large procession of desert folk emerged from the Spine. He realized there must’ve been some sort of pass cut into it, a way to connect the desert and the plains — otherwise, the journey might’ve taken them several days.

  There were dozens of desert folk, all traveling in a line. They carried heavy baskets across their backs, sunk low by the weight of glittering gold. The bright colors of their garments stunned the earth around them: brilliant yellows, fiery reds, and several shades of blues and greens. They clapped as they chanted, singing in a language that Kael didn’t understand.

  In the very middle of the line, eight guards held up something that looked like the top to a very fine carriage, supported by two long poles. The sunlight glittered off the carriage’s gold trappings. Jewels winked across its surface, nearly blinding them with colorful bursts of light. Red curtains hid the inside of the carriage from view, but Kael thought he might’ve been able to guess who it carried:

  Baron Sahar had arrived in the plains.

  So this was why Gilderick had called his guards inside the castle. It wasn’t that he needed the protection — it was because he didn’t want the others to know of his troubles. If Sahar found out that Gilderick had lost nearly all his mages, how long would it be before the news reached the King? And once Crevan heard, Gilderick would surely be punished. He might even lose his position as a ruler.

  So he’d had no choice but to call his guards away and carry on like nothing had happened. Kael realized that Gilderick would be vulnerable these next few days — which might just give him the chance he needed to fix things.

  He was in the middle of trying to organize his thoughts when Brend interrupted him:

  “Sun-loving sandbeaters!” He swayed a little as he stood, glaring at the desert folk. “They’ve got no business coming on our soil. By Fate, those mountains were put there for a reas
on — to keep you clods out!”

  Though they were at least two bowshots away, he picked up a chunk of soil and tried to hurl it at them. It slipped out of his hand and plummeted straight to the ground.

  The throw put Brend off balance. He stumbled backwards and likely would’ve fallen, had Declan not stepped up behind him. He caught Brend under the arms and led him to the edge of the field. “Sit down, rest your legs for a bit —”

  “They’ve got no business!” Brend went on, his voice suddenly thick by what could’ve easily been anger or tears. “We should’ve been out by now —”

  “Just calm yourself, try to take it easy.”

  But Brend would have none of it. When Declan finally got him to sit, he tried to rise by climbing up the front of Declan’s shirt. “You were right — you’ve been right the whole while.” He clung tightly when Declan tried to peel his hands away. “We’re going to die like this. We’ll be sent back down into the dust we’ve sobbed in!”

  “You don’t know that,” Declan said, though now his eyes were wide with worry. “What’s gotten into you? Are you sun-stroked?”

  Brend’s mouth opened as if he was about to speak, but the words never got out. His eyes rolled back into their sockets and his hands fell limply from Declan’s shirt. Kael rushed over and caught his head.

  He felt the alarming heat at the base of Brend’s skull, and his stomach dropped. “He’s got a fever.”

  “What do we do?” Declan’s hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. His head shot to the left, where Hob was driving the water wagon towards them.

  “We can’t let the spellmonger see Brend — they’ll take him to the castle!” someone hissed, and Kael realized that the whole team had gathered around them, staring worriedly at Brend. A crowd of giants would surely catch Hob’s attention.

  “Get back to work and try to act like nothing’s happened,” Kael said quickly. He sent one giant after some herbs from the garden and then left for the water troughs at an all-out sprint.

  Hob was closer, but he thought charging the wagon would only raise more suspicions. He went from one barn to the next, searching frantically for something to carry the water in. He found an old bucket tossed out in the grass and could hardly believe his luck. When he tried to fill it, he discovered immediately why it had been thrown away: several large holes had been worn into its bottom, and they spat the water out nearly as quickly as he could fill it.

  He plugged what he could with his fingers and held the bucket at an angle, keeping most of the water trapped inside. He moved at a trot and kept his steps smooth, trying not to slosh any of the water out. When he finally returned to the vegetable patch, he saw that the giants were clumped together again.

  He swore.

  “I told you to spread out,” he hollered at them. “You have to listen …”

  But his words trailed away when a few of the giants stepped aside, and he saw that it wasn’t Brend they were hunched over: it was Declan.

  Three giants had fallen on him, plastering him to the ground with their bodies. He roared and squirmed against their hold, nearly breaking free. Two more giants had to jump in to keep him pinned down. His eyes were a deep, furious black.

  At first, Kael didn’t grasp it. “What happened?” He glanced everywhere for Brend, but couldn’t see him. Then he saw the dust cloud rising from the road, saw Hob and the wagon heading straight for the castle — and with a horror that nearly sank him to his knees, he realized what had happened.

  “They’ve taken Brend,” one of the giants said, his eyes heavy with tears. “They’ve taken him to Lord Gilderick!”

  *******

  It was almost dark before Declan tired himself out. Two giants hauled him back to the barn, holding his arms tightly behind his back. Even though his fury had drained his strength, he still had the energy to yell at them, and he ranted all through dinner.

  He called the giants cowards. He said that if the ground was wet tomorrow, it was because their fathers were weeping in their graves. He said that their mothers would be ashamed of them. And the giants took their beating without a word.

  They sat sullenly, and none of them took so much as a bite to eat. They slumped over the trough, flinching as if Declan’s words bit through their skin. Several pressed the ratty hems of their shirts to their eyes, but no one spoke up against him.

  Once Declan had the giants thoroughly beaten, he went after Kael.

  “And you, you little rat —!”

  “What have I done?” Kael snapped back.

  He was just as furious about Brend as anybody else. He should’ve seen that he had a fever, and he should’ve done something about it. Had he not been so worried about his own blasted problems, he might’ve noticed it sooner. Now Brend was gone, locked up somewhere inside the castle — and he couldn’t even send Eveningwing out to find him because the blasted bird had wandered off again!

  But screaming at Kael wouldn’t solve anything. There was nothing he could do, now — there was nothing any of them could do. They couldn’t risk trying to sneak into a castle flooded with the guards of two rulers just to try and save one man. It would be folly. They might all lose their lives, and still fail to set Brend free.

  But even though Kael knew this, it didn’t stop Declan’s words from stinging.

  “What have you done? You’ve betrayed him — carved his heart out of his ribs!” Declan bit back his next words, and his face went dangerously smooth. “No, I shouldn’t be blaming you. A rat’s a rat, after all. He looks after his own hide, and he doesn’t trouble himself with anybody else’s. If there’s anyone I ought to be angry with, it’s me.” The shadow left his eyes, and he fixed Kael with a look like stone. “I knew you were a schemer, but I thought you were a decent man. Now I see that I was wrong. I blame myself … I should’ve snapped your filthy neck when I had the chance.”

  Kael went numb. He suddenly remembered that day in the wheat fields, when Declan had wanted to take him to the blacksmith to have his scythe fixed. He’d thought that Declan had been acting odd, and now he realized why: it hadn’t been about the blade at all — he’d been trying to get Kael alone.

  He’d been planning to kill him.

  Declan stared him down. No one else would meet his eyes. And in their silence, he heard the truth. Kael’s head suddenly felt light, as if it’d been filled with a cold, biting wind. He got to his feet and went into the stall without a word.

  The night crossed overhead and the stars churned about the sky. Kael lay stiffly through the long hours of darkness, feeling the emptiness of Brend’s pallet beside him. He shut his eyes against the moon’s accusing touch as it drifted somberly through the clouds.

  He kept reminding himself that he was doing what had to be done: the life of one man wasn’t worth the lives of all the others. He’d chosen to do the wiser thing.

  But wisdom was a sorry friend, that night. It whistled through the hollow of his heart, blowing neither cold nor hot — promising nothing but the chance to escape some greater ruin. And as the hour grew later, what he’d thought to be wisdom suddenly felt a lot like cowardice.

  Perhaps Declan had been right about him, after all. Perhaps he was a rat.

  Just before dawn, rain began to fall. Kael listened dully as it poured through the roof, as the sky shed the tears that he would not. He didn’t move when the stall doors opened: the rain was falling too thickly now, and he knew that Hob would just send them back inside. It was going to be a long, miserable day.

  When Eveningwing finally returned, Kael was alone in the stall. The halfhawk listened patiently as he told him what had happened. When he was finished, Eveningwing set out immediately — promising that he would scour the castle grounds for any signs of Brend.

  Kael knew there was little hope for him now, and the others seemed to feel the same: the whole barn was eerily silent. The only noise was of Declan as he paced back and forth down the aisle. His quick steps were broken every now and then by a loud clang as he punched
one of the iron doors. No one seemed to want to be the one to tell him that it was hopeless.

  Dinner passed in miserable silence. The giants tried to get Declan to eat something. They stepped into his path and tried to force him to the trough, but he knocked them aside and kept pacing.

  It was nearly time for the torches to dim when Eveningwing finally returned. He stumbled out of the stall; his hair dripped wetly onto his bare chest as he fumbled with the buttons of his trousers. When he looked up, Kael saw that his lip was bleeding. And he looked frightened.

  “What happened to you?” he said, shoving through the crowd to reach him.

  Eveningwing grabbed the front of his shirt. “I searched everywhere. I looked in every window for him. But I didn’t see him. Then I was flying back here and I saw him walking down the path. I flew down to tell him that we were worried — and he struck me.” Eveningwing touched a hand to his lip. Confusion lined his face. “I’m not sure what I did.”

  “You didn’t do anything,” Kael assured him quickly. “Where is he now?”

  “He’s almost here.”

  Eveningwing glanced at the door, and dread began to boil inside Kael’s gut. He tried to prepare himself for what he would see, but when the doors flew open, he still felt the earth drop out from beneath him.

  Brend stood in the doorway. His arms hung limply at his sides and his mouth sagged open. He stared vacantly at the far wall. His eyes were fogged over and dulled — all of the glint and the mischief were gone from them … never to return. For Brend was Brend no longer:

  He was a Fallow.

  Chapter 32

  Across the Threshold

  “Brend!” Declan charged down the aisle and tried to grab him around the shoulders, but Brend was too strong. He jerked himself free with an unintelligible grunt. Then he slugged Declan across the jaw.

  The noise it made was like a slab of raw meat striking the tabletop, and Declan went down hard. Brend trudged past him without a second glance, his deadened face pointed for the Fallows’ stall.