by C. Greenwood
During the following weeks, travelers and traders flocked to Selbius from the surrounding countryside, intent on arriving early before the Middlefest celebrations. Those who passed through Dimming left the shadowed wood significantly poorer than they had entered it.
There was a constant flow of comings and goings about both our camps during that time. To my disappointment, I was largely left out of the activity. Brig’s fears, seemingly confirmed by my mishap with the priest, had again become a deterrent. I was also kept busy with the menial tasks around camp the others no longer had time for. That I couldn’t blame on Brig, although I was certain if there was a way he could have increased my workload to keep me at Red Rock more, he would have.
These were my thoughts one afternoon in mid-spring, as I stalked through the cool forest shadows with Terrac. I led us here in hopes of hunting down one of the sly hedge rabbits that loved to nibble among the thickets of hopeberries. Our band had feasted on thin potato porridge for three consecutive days, and I meant to have meat for supper tonight of it took me all day to hunt it down.
Terrac, unfortunately, didn’t share my determination. He crashed carelessly through the bushes, heedless of the noise he made, as he collected bright berries to be later mashed into inks for his scribbling. Whatever game was in the area was probably fleeing his noise even now, but I stifled my rising irritation. No point in taking my frustrations out on him.
“I don’t think there’s any game here, Terrac,” I said. “I’m going to try over near Dancing Creek, all right? Maybe you should wait for me here. Just keep on with what you’re doing.”
In place of response, Terrac gave a startled cry. He had moved on ahead of me and a high wall of brambles concealed him from my view.
“Terrac? What is it?” I asked.
No answer.
I moved after him, concerned he might have stepped on a venomous snake or happened upon an angry bear. Dragging my hunting knife free of my belt in case I was called on to defend us, I charged into the bramble bush, ignoring the sharp thorns snagging at my skin and clothes, as I wrestled my way through to Terrac.
He was on his knees bent over the form of an unconscious man, lying in a shallow pool of blood. The stranger lay with his belly to the earth, the toes of his boots pushed into the dirt, his hands formed into claws, gripping tightly at a clump of weeds as though he had tried to drag himself further, before surrendering to his weakness. I dropped to one knee at his side and together Terrac and I turned him over.
His face was so battered and covered in blood that it took me a moment to note the distinctive scar lining his brow to the hairline and a narrow shock of white hair growing in that spot. It was this which helped me identify him as Garad from Molehill, one of our men. I didn’t know him well, for he hadn’t been up to Red Rock much, but I vaguely remembered him as a quiet man who used to chat with Brig.
“He lives,” Terrac told me, quietly.
Pressing my ear over the man’s heart, I listened to the faint uneven rhythm. As we watched, his eyelids suddenly flew open and he glared around him wildly.
“Garad, it’s all right.” I hastened to soothe him. “We’re no enemies. You know us.”
He fastened his gaze on me and I thought there was confused recognition in his eyes before a convulsion of pain distorted his features.
Unthinkingly, I summoned my magic and directed it toward the suffering man, attempting to convey a sense of calm or comfort to his mind. Friends were here. There was no fear, no pain. I knew it was hopeless the moment I touched him. I could feel his life flickering like a guttering candle between existence and oblivion, and I didn’t think my calming suggestions were reaching him. He was too deeply steeped in his suffering. Still, I felt his reason fighting determinedly to the forefront.
He drew a ragged breath and I expected him to scream out his pain, but he didn’t. Somehow he held the torment back enough to grate out his message. “Fists… t-tell the Hand it was Resid and the Fists. T-tried to fight back, but they knew we were coming. Warn… the others…”
I left Terrac to memorize the message because I could listen with only half my mind. Most of my attention focused on the inward struggle to find and unravel the threads of Garad’s pain and it wasn’t working. His emotions were tangled and confused, and I couldn’t insinuate my thoughts into them. I tried another tactic, tracing the pain to its source and wrapping my mind around it. I couldn’t smother the force, but I could hold the worst of it back from his consciousness.
It was then the pain slammed into me. I was stunned as I took its strength into myself. Consumed by the agony that was now mine, I toppled backward to the ground. I gritted my teeth and arched my back.
“Ilan! Ilan, what is it?” I heard Terrac shout, but his voice filtered to me from a great distance and I couldn’t concentrate enough to form an answer. There was too much pain to leave space for anything else.
“Get help!” I grated.
Terrac looked desperate. “I can’t! I don’t know my way back to camp without you!”
I was scarcely aware of his words because I was blacking out. The instant my consciousness began to slip, I lost my hold on the pain. The agony flowed from me as if a dam had burst and reverted to its natural course, pouring back into the prone figure beside me. Garad cried out as it coursed through his body again, but selfish relief washed over me. I was terribly weakened and I sucked in air as if I couldn’t get enough of it, every fiber of me acutely aware of how wonderful it was to be free of the pain.
I grasped Tearrac’s wrist to stop his hopeless yelling for help. “Be quiet and help me up,” I said wearily.
He looked confused. “You’re all right now? But what happened to you?”
“Never mind, I’ll explain later. Just help me sit up.”
He assisted me and in a moment I was sitting upright. Beside us, the injured outlaw screamed again. I had no time to collect my strength as, staggered by weakness, I drew myself to my feet.
“What are you doing?” Terrac asked, steadying me.
“One of us has to fetch help. You don’t know the way, so that leaves me.”
“Do you think you can get there without collapsing?”
“Of course,” I lied. “I have no choice.”
“Then bring Javen. And Rideon. This man’s just holding on long enough to get his message to the Hand.”
“I’ll be quick,” I promised. I’d run myself to death if I had to.
Dredging up what energy I could, I pushed my way back toward Red Rock as speedily as my weak legs would carry me. Terrac, I quickly realized, could have run circles around me just now. But of course, his circles wouldn’t have been in the right direction.
I dragged myself onward until I reached camp. There, I discovered Javen wasn’t to be found and I could waste no time looking for him. As soon as I could gather breath, I explained the situation to a handful of the outlaws. Someone hunted down Rideon and we left the camp with a dozen or so of the band following my lead.
Garad was dead when we arrived. Terrac had drawn his eyes closed, but it did little to lend him an appearance of peace. His face was distorted in a snarl of agony, his mouth open in a frozen cry, and I felt a selfish sense of relief I had been too far away to witness the end.
Rideon dropped to a knee at the dead man’s side, asking Terrac, “Did he say anything more of what befell him?”
Expression drawn, Terrac glanced toward me and said, “His pain was too great to say much. He ranted through his screams, but I couldn’t make sense of most of it. He and several others were on an errand near Tinker’s Path when they were attacked, ambushed by a troop of Fists who knew enough to be sure where to lie in wait. An outlaw of yours, one called Resid, betrayed them. There were no other survivors.”
“I know that location,” one of our men spoke up. “Heard some of them earlier planning a trip to the traveler’s way huts. If you pop in there quick enough, you can scrounge around for supplies the travelers have left behind for the next folk what stops
by.”
“Why did I never hear of these intentions?” Rideon demanded.
The outlaw scratched his shaggy beard. “I, uh, couldn’t say, Hand. I didn’t think it was nothing worth mentioning and I guess the others didn’t either. Anyway, I wasn’t in on the discussion myself. All I know is Mabias, Brig, and Spearneck were going, together with a handful of others. I guess Garad and Resid from Molehill were among them.”
My stomach lurched at the mention of Brig. Surely he was mistaken—Brig couldn’t have been among those slaughtered. The possibility was too shattering too accept. I struggled after a shred of hope, anything to hold onto. None escaped, according to Garad, I reminded myself, but hadn’t Garad been in such pain that even Terrac admitted half his words were senseless rantings? One other might still have survived—must have survived—I decided desperately. Brig was not a man to die easily.
Rideon carried on with his thoughts, apparently unconcerned with the fates of his men. “Resid,” he mused, “was a new member. What does he know? Everything?”
Kinsley stepped nearer. “He’s scarcely left Molehill, Hand. Never been to Red Rock and shouldn’t even know where it is. I keep the new ones in the dark until they’ve proven themselves trustworthy. The other men know that’s my rule and are usually pretty close-mouthed around new recruits.”
“All except a select few who invited him into their secret plans,” Rideon snapped. “How many others has he wheedled confidences from, sidling his way into their trust until they volunteered more information than they should?”
Kinsley said, “This is my fault for failing to search the new members carefully enough. I let a spy slip in among us.”
“You did,” Rideon agreed. “But there’ll be time for whining about your carelessness later. We’ve more immediate problems to hand. We’ve got to evacuate Molehill if it isn’t too late. Red Rock, too. I’ll take no chances on what Resid may or may not have discovered. We have to operate under the assumption the Fists and their spy now know as much about us as we do ourselves. There’s no saying how much time we have, so we must act quickly.”
He spun on Terrac. “When did this ambush occur?”
Terrac shrugged. “Garad didn’t say, but I imagine it must have taken a man in his condition a while to cover so much distance.”
Rideon said, “Then let us waste no time. It appears we have little enough of it. Kinsley and the rest of you, come with me. Except you, Cadon. I want you to run up to Molehill as quickly as you can run. Spread the word to evacuate to the part of the forest where the trees don’t green. We’ll meet up and form our plans there.”
I interrupted with the question no one else seemed concerned about. “But what of our missing men? What of Brig?”
Rideon continued giving out instructions as if I hadn’t spoken. Only Terrac looked at me with sympathy. “I think it’s too late for them, Ilan,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I said firmly. “Brig lives.” I refused to consider the alternative.
Terrac frowned. “Garad was dying. It’s unlikely he would have dared lie to a priest, even if he had some unfathomable cause to.”
I scarcely heard him. I was thinking that if I never saw Brig again, I’d never have the chance to mend our damaged friendship. All I wanted was a chance to explain myself to him, to return things to the way they once were between us. Suddenly, every sly act of disrespect, every insult I’d ever tossed at him, was a bitter memory to me, like a blade twisted deep in my gut. It would haunt me forever if I didn’t get the chance to take it all back.
Rideon had finished issuing orders and the others were dispersing to carry out his commands when I intercepted him, seizing the front of his jerkin and thrusting my face into his.
I said, “What are you going to do for Brig and the rest? You cannot mean to leave them to their fates.”
My captain looked down on me coldly. “Didn’t you hear the priest boy say they were dead? They’re beyond our aid. Now out of my way, hound. There’s important work to be carried out and little time in which to accomplish it.”
“But maybe they weren’t all killed. We have only Garad’s word on that! I won’t believe anything could have happened to Brig until I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”
Rideon shook me off impatiently. “Then you’re doomed to a lifetime of wondering. We’ve more immediate problems to occupy ourselves with than worrying about what happened to Brig. Like getting all our people out of Red Rock and Molehill before they meet the same fate as Garad here. Now, I know what you’re thinking, but I forbid you or anyone else to go running off after a corpse. We’ve the living to defend, so let’s move on and do what we can for those who aren’t beyond saving.”
I wouldn’t listen. “I’m telling you, I can bring Brig back. I can and I will!”
“And where do you expect to find him?” Rideon asked. “Do you think the Praetor’s men just leave the bodies of outlaws lying out on the roads for carrion? Do you never pay attention to anything that happens around you? No, the Fists bring their victims, alive or dead, to Selbius, where the crowds may witness the Praetor’s justice. Brig’s remains will be displayed on the city walls or hung up in the market square, alongside the rotting bones of anyone else who has ever dared to flout the Praetor’s rule.”
I stood stupidly, factoring this new information into my plans as he shoved past. I was scarcely aware of his leaving. What he said changed nothing. I needed to see for myself whether Brig was truly dead. And even if he were… I couldn’t allow his corpse to be dishonored in the way Rideon described. One way or another, I must save him, and next to this, Rideon’s orders meant little.
I said, “Terrac, how far to Selbius from the way huts on Tinker’s Path?”
Terrac must have been following my thinking, for he looked uneasy. “You know these woods better than I do.”
I said, “I think it’s about a half day, as the raven flies, but it’ll take longer for them.” There was no question as to who ‘they’ were. “They’ll follow the road and that’ll cost them time. There’d be no taking their horses straight through Heeflin’s Bog. And if I know Brig and the rest, I suspect the Fists will also have injured men of their own, which will slow them down further. But they’ve a good headstart on us so we’ve no time to waste. Come on, I’ll need your help.”
“No.”
The priest boy’s refusal drew me to a halt before I had gone three steps. I wasn’t much surprised by his response and had my argument prepared.
“Brig saved your life when you came here, nursed you back to health as much as I did,” I reminded him. “You can leave him to his fate now? Is that the kind of honor your old priests taught you?”
Terrac shook his head. “I know what you have in mind, Ilan. But there’s only the two of us against an unknown number of them. As a man of the robe, I cannot fight, even to save my life, so I’d be useless to you. I’m sorry for you and for Brig, truly, but Rideon has given his orders and for once I am in agreement with him.”
I was furious but could waste no more time attempting to argue him out of his cowardice. “I see. Well then, may your friends ever be as faithful to you.”
I turned my back on him and set off into the underbrush without another look. I sensed I had shamed him and he was undergoing some internal struggle, so it was no surprise when, after a short pause, he came running after me.
We kept silent as we strode together through the thick trees. I set a brisk pace and neither of us could afford to waste breath speaking. Every instinct within me screamed at me to run, to hasten to Brig’s side as quickly as my legs could speed me, but I restrained myself. We had a long distance to cover and there was no sense in spending all our strength this early.
CHAPTER TWELVE