by Elliott Kay
Shady Tooth got to work alongside DigDig. Teryn crept to the other end of the tent for a look through the exit. Another large tent stood nearby. Though she saw no banner or decoration, she knew it for what it was.
“Ssh,” Teryn warned her friends. “There’s a sentry at the next tent. He isn’t facing this way, but we need to be careful.”
“Only need time,” DigDig murmured. He dropped a couple more spears down the maw of his bottomless pouch. “Can only fit so much at once.” Shady Tooth nodded, finding the same limit to her work.
“That has to be the command tent. I’m going to check it out,” said Teryn. Her companions looked up with frowns. She shook her head. “It’s too important to ignore. I’ll go in from the back. If I hear voices, I’ll only listen.”
“We can take the guard,” said Shady Tooth.
“Someone will see he’s gone. We only have time for this tent and the other if we split up. I’ll be quick.” She read her friends’ discomfort, but neither of them said no. They kept working. Teryn looked twice and slipped outside.
The sentry never saw her before she was around the corner and on the opposite side. The tent was more substantial than the others, staked and tied down tight. The clang of weapons and calls of training weren’t so close as to cover every noise. Teryn listened for voices or any sort of activity within, but none came.
Then she heard the crunch of leaves as footsteps approached around the other side. Oh hell, you’ve got to be joking, she thought. Now they have sentries make rounds? Now? Mindful to avoid the same noisy mistakes in her footsteps, Teryn rounded the opposite corner to stay out of sight. She moved toward the next corner out of caution lest she be seen if the sentry kept coming—which, of course, he did.
She could take him down, but doing so silently was a gamble. The sentry’s absence wouldn’t go unnoticed. Her only other option took her around to the front of the tent after a heart-stopping look for a clear path. She saw men and women out walking around, but no one looked her way.
Her game of hide-and-seek would end in victory or stabbings. To avoid the latter, Teryn came around the front of the tent. Men farther down the lane turned her way, forcing her to take the only remaining path of concealment. She ducked inside the command tent with a hand on her blade, dreading a violent end to her run.
No one awaited her within. Teryn stepped past the tiny fabric vestibule of the tent’s entrance. She found tables and chairs built for quick disassembly, a locked chest for valuables and pay, a tiny writing desk, and scrolls and maps everywhere.
Teryn searched and read quickly. Inventories and rosters had value, but they were hardly the most important matters here. A half-finished letter recorded the raid on the camp, along with a list of the fallen. Another note bore the seal of the king’s mint, promising funds held in trust for “loyal vassals far from home in His Majesty’s service.”
The letter with the small, simple illustration of the surrounding area forced her to look closer. Mountains in black dominated the little drawing, mirroring the Stonebeard range on the large and elaborate map of northwest Theralda laid out across the table. A line in red ink hooked between the mountains. Between the greetings and the drawing, the letter read, “Greyfalls Pass remains the only practical option for a force of any significant size. Trade routes and hunting trails can be found elsewhere, but none will fit more than a single wagon or two horses abreast. Fortunately the snows have fully melted. The garrison south of Greyfalls is in excellent condition and ready to march at any order, and the fort is prepared to support larger movements from the south.”
A stone sank into her stomach. Teryn had taken one of those hunting trails through the mountains in her flight northward specifically to avoid Fort Greyfalls. She didn’t like the tone of this letter. It didn’t sound like routine inspections on patrol. This was all part of preparations to move.
Relations with Nivoen were fine as far as Teryn knew. Aevethiel was clear on the other side of the kingdom from here, but Dostin couldn’t possibly plan anything ambitious against the elves. Velic bordered Theralda on the west from the coast on up beyond the mountain range. Dostin couldn’t be planning war against them, either, even if his daughter had stabbed the crown prince. The only reasonable target north of the Stonebeards was the obvious.
“Hello, Teryn.” The voice snapped her from strategic fears and into more immediate danger. Barret stood in the entrance with a smirk. At his side stood a tanned, bald man in leather armor. Like Barret, she had never wanted to see him again, either. Timothy stepped past Barret with his empty hands raised and a malevolent gleam in his eyes.
“Bastards!” Teryn barked. Her hand went to her blade. Sparkling white frost shot from Timothy’s fingers to coat both her fingers and the handle of her sword. Her blade held fast in its sheath, and now her hand was stuck to the grip. Teryn followed through on her advance, anyway. She planted her foot in Timothy’s gut to send him stumbling backward onto his ass. She also saw her only chance to warn her friends of the threat. “You’ll rot in hell, wizard!” she shouted.
“Enough of that,” Barret growled. He wrapped his strong arms around Teryn’s shoulders and lifted her off her feet. With her right hand stuck at her left hip, her options to fight back where limited. Barret slammed her hard against the table. Legs built for quick disassembly buckled upon the impact to leave her crashing into the floor.
He loomed over her as she rolled off her belly and her face. The chill from the frost around her hand grew painful. It didn’t annoy her nearly as much as his voice. “I always wondered if you might come back to me, but I didn’t think it would be like—oof!” Her heel didn’t quite catch his knee, but the blow sent him staggering backward anyway.
“You’re out here scouting for the king’s army,” she shouted. “He’s bringing troops up here to attack the camp!”
“We’ve accomplished more than that now,” said Barret.
Up off his back, Timothy returned to Barret’s side with his hands weaving another spell. He opened both palms toward Teryn right before her vision darkened. Her thoughts slowed. Her body moved slower. Everything was harder.
“How the hell did she come out here alone?” asked Timothy.
“She probably didn’t. I have plenty of questions, but we don’t have time for them now. We can send her south with our dispatches if we get her to Eastford right away. Sentry!” Barret called back. “Alert the others. This likely isn’t the only one.”
Teryn opened her mouth to call out, but nothing escaped her throat. Her head slumped back as she fell into a sudden, deep slumber.
Chapter Six
The fabric of tents hardly covered the noise. Shady Tooth and DigDig abandoned their theft to listen from hiding. More people converged on the command tent in mere seconds. From a tiny split in the lining of the supply tent, Shady Tooth saw Teryn hauled away. Two men handled her limp body. Others joined them quickly. Too many others.
Footsteps rushed past the tent. Someone called out warnings and instructions. Their presence would be discovered soon. At their first chance, DigDig and Shady Tooth darted for the trees at the camp’s edge. Without needing to discuss it, one watched left while the other looked out to the right.
Their luck held long enough to make it to cover. Safely behind trees and shade, they watched the camp for more signs of movement and threats—and for their friend. Above the din, someone called out for a wagon.
“You heard all of that before? You understood?” Shady Tooth asked DigDig. He nodded. “Then go. Take my pack and get out of here.”
“Not leaving you. Not either of you,” he hissed back.
She pushed her backpack into his arms. “These are too important, DigDig. It’s more weapons for our people and fewer for them, and Zition needs to know about their plans.”
“Need to look out for my crew,” said DigDig.
“A crew has to rely on each other. I’m relying on you to get back to Zition. You rely on me to take care of this.” She pointed back
to the camp. “We can’t rescue her here. They’re moving her. I’ll have a better chance away from the camp and I’ll move faster on my own. You have your job. I’ve got mine.”
“Sergeant! Sergeant!” called out an alarmed voice in the supply tent. “Someone’s been in here! All the weapons are gone!”
Scowling, DigDig strapped his pack to his back and took up the other one in his arms. “Don’t die,” he said.
She nodded. “Same. Let’s not get mushy.”
DigDig plunged into the woods. Shady Tooth split off to work her way along the tree line in hopes of circling the camp. Men emerged from the outer tents with weapons drawn to search for the burglars. She doubted they could see any signs of her escape with DigDig to the trees, or they would surely have pursued. The shadows and brush were enough to cover her movement.
The rapid thump of hooves soon overcame rushing footsteps and shouts. Riders burst from the line of tents, only to turn sharply left in what had to be a survey of the camp’s perimeter. Frustrated by the noise, Shady Tooth leaped into the boughs of the nearest tree. After a fast climb, she stilled herself to watch and listen.
It wasn’t a huge camp. Hundreds of humans, but not thousands. Most of them scattered out to the edges and searched their tents. She had to see or hear something.
“She’s tied tight. You want her legs tied, too?” someone asked. He wasn’t far.
“No. You may need to make her walk before long. Stay close to her in the wagon, though. She’ll wake up soon and kick you to death if you give her the chance.”
“So it’s true what they say? She’s a real lunatic, huh?”
“She’s the king’s daughter. The only people who get to call her that are the royals. You had best keep that talk out of your mouth unless you want the lash. Now go!”
More hooves hit the ground, louder and likely more numerous than the patrol she’d just seen. She also heard the creak of wagon wheels. Shady Tooth had her mark, if only by sound. As soon as she saw the dust cloud and tracked their direction, she dropped from her tree and broke into a run. Stealth no longer mattered so much. She stuck to the trees as long as they curved around the camp, catching sight of the band only once.
The riders and the wagon held to a trail. Their path followed her memory of the area and her sense of direction. Six mounted warriors and the handful more riding the wagon were perhaps more than she could take all at once, but she wouldn’t likely catch up with them anyway. A little luck and the ability to cut across bends in the trail would make up for that.
She didn’t think about the rest. Shady Tooth ran.
* * *
“How long would you estimate your committee study to take?” asked Yargol. Scars remained behind him at the rock. War Cloud stayed by Yargol’s side, but let the magician take the lead. He seemed able to at least speak the same language.
Brookwater frowned. “We do not like estimates. They are prone to result only in unforeseen and unnecessary restrictions, much like morality.”
“Can you tell me the parameters?” Yargol continued on undaunted.
“Only as a matter of preliminary conjecture,” said Windbreeze.
“Which is an estimate,” noted Brookwater.
“Humor me, please.”
Druids looked to one another with sighs and discomfort. Treeleaf explained, “We would need a survey of the issue to understand its size and scope. This would require an understanding of the lands around the camp, an accounting of its people, and a sense of its growth over time so that we might understand not only its current population but also its likely development. Perhaps also a similar survey of comparable settlements to establish a baseline understanding.”
“You are a circle of druids devoted to the protection and care of this region,” said Yargol. “Don’t you have an intimate understanding of these lands already?”
“Well, yes, of course,” said Windbreeze. “A review of changes wrought by the presence of the camp is in order. But that is the easiest task ahead.” She folded her arms across her chest. “We are masters of the natural world, after all.”
“Masters in understanding and connection,” Dewfrost corrected promptly. “Not in a context of ownership.”
“Of course,” Windbreeze conceded.
“So it would take days, you think? Or perhaps less, given your mastery?” asked Yargol.
“Not days,” Brookwater scoffed.
“Then you could work with the mayor of Zition to understand its growth and its needs. She has been there from the beginning and has managed the population daily. She can tell you all you need to know on that matter. As for a comparable settlement, you won’t find one in this region. At best, there may be other refugees gathered elsewhere, but they will have different settings and different needs. Thus your baseline is unlikely to provide any useful perspective.”
“Hold on,” said Treeleaf. “Are you asking for understanding, or in an effort to cut our studies short in hopes of a swift decision?”
“People will starve and grow sick while you study,” said War Cloud. “People are starving and sick now.”
“Zition has no wish to poison the forest or the streams. They have no desire to purge the area of game and set themselves up for worse starvation later,” said Yargol. “The settlement is young. Now is the time to guide them. Tell them your concerns and show them how to live in harmony with the environment and they will make foundational practices of it.”
“You mean take sides in the current struggle between humans and goblin folk,” said Willowbark.
“Go ahead and tell the humans in Eastford your advice, too,” said War Cloud.
“We have. Many times. They usually don’t listen,” said Dewfrost.
“Then why should you hold that against Zition?”
“Because we don’t want to take sides,” Willowbark answered. “Don’t you understand? We are neutral in this.”
“Neutrality is important enough to let children starve?” asked War Cloud.
“No,” said Yargol. “No, they already have taken one side. Dewfrost says they have tried to guide Eastford. They won’t try the same with Zition. The difference is clear.”
“How dare you,” Willowbark snapped. “We are guardians of the natural world!”
“Yes, and goblin folk are not natural to you, are they?” Yargol pulled down his hood to reveal his mismatched features. “I am not natural. Tell me my life is worth less than yours. Say it to my face. Then tell it to the people of Zition, who are surely more natural than I.”
“Natural enough to settle amid ancient corruption?” Windbreeze stepped beside Willowbark, looking down on Yargol with her cordiality gone.
“Not something we want to discuss,” warned Brookwater.
“He knows. Look at him,” said Windbreeze.
“No, enlighten us,” said Yargol. “We discovered an abomination on the way to Zition. A human sorcerer possessed by some otherworldly power. He lashed out with shadows before we destroyed him.”
“We searched for others in the camp in case he was part of something more, but we found nothing,” added War Cloud. “No hint of possession, no sign of corruption.”
“How hard did you search, gnoll?” Windbreeze shot back.
His lip curled. “I am a paladin of Dastia. Do you doubt it? This is my role. If I discover such corruption, I end it.”
“Can you sense what is buried deep?” spoke up Glendale. Heads turned to face him. “What little we know suggests the corruption is indeed ancient. Winds and streams carry sediment. New plants grow over the old and dead.”
“Then can you help us find it?” asked War Cloud.
“No,” Willowbark answered firmly.
“This is your role, too,” said Yargol.
“That corruption has been buried long enough to let it stay that way,” she replied. “We cannot get involved.”
“No. You choose not to get involved. You leave whatever lies beneath Zition as an excuse to ignore all the rest. If you came t
oo close, you might see the people there. If you stay out here and claim neutrality, it’s easier to ignore their suffering.” Yargol turned to Scars. “I see why you were reluctant to come. This is a waste of time. I am sorry. We should go.”
* * *
Her neck hurt like hell as she awoke. Other pains announced their presence, too, but her neck hurt even when she tried to lift her head to correct it. Then she realized she shouldn’t be sleeping with her head bowed—or sitting upright, or with her hands tied behind her back and crammed between her waist and a chair. A rope wound around her abdomen held her upright against the chair.
Daylight spilled through the window opposite her seat, dimmed either by clouds or a late hour. She recognized the upstairs room of the tavern in Eastford. She recognized her captors, too. “Aw hell,” Teryn muttered.
Barret sat on the end of the bed admiring her sword, drawn halfway from its sheath. Timothy stood near doorway to her left, arms folded across his chest and his beady dark eyes fixed on her. Two more of Barret’s men stood nearby, one by the window and another along the wall to her right.
“This is a nice sword. The scabbard doesn’t match, obviously, but the blade is as fine as any I have ever seen. Another gift from your great-grandfather?” asked Barret.
“No. I took it from some asshole,” Teryn answered. Her throat was raw. “Where’s my bow?”
“I used to think you weren’t so materialistic,” Barret laughed. “You thought so of yourself, at least.”
“It’s for shooting people. I’ve got priorities.”
“Your precious heirloom is here. I would not part you from it any more than I would harm you, self-defense aside.” He grinned. “The one is a matter of diplomacy. The other is a matter of your father strangling me even as I give him what he longs for most in the world.”