by Kel Kade
Mory stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Walking is boring. We might as well be walking in circles. The land looks the same here as it did this morning and yesterday and the day before. It’s all the same. I thought things would be more exciting outside the city.”
“Maybe it’ll be more exciting at the marquess’s estate.”
“Do you think he’ll let us stay?”
“I doubt either of us will see the marquess. He has men to deal with the likes of us.”
“But they won’t hurt us, right? I mean, we haven’t done anything to them.”
Peck shrugged. “The marquess seems interested in Aaslo, and we’re Aaslo’s men.”
“What if Aaslo owes him money?” said Mory. “You know what Jago did to people that owed him money.”
Peck frowned. “I don’t think Aaslo owed the marquess money. According to the rumors, the marquess wanted to hire him to do something.”
Mory danced in front of him to walk backward with his finger held high. “You said not to trust the rumors.”
“Well yeah, but sometimes rumors is all you got. Just don’t believe them until you know for sure.”
Mory tilted his head to look over Peck’s shoulder. “Hey, there’s people coming. A lot of people, it looks like.”
Peck glanced back to see a caravan of riders and wagons kicking up dust in the distance. He grabbed Mory by the collar and dragged him off the road. “Come on,” he said as he gently pushed aside the tall grass. “We don’t know who that is, and I don’t like getting caught out in the open like this.”
“Maybe they’ll think we’re refugees from the blight we keep hearing about.”
“The refugees are all walking the other way. We are the only people I’ve seen for two days going this direction—besides them.”
“Maybe they’ll give us a ride,” said Mory as they ducked down in the grass to watch the procession pass.
“Maybe they’ll capture us or leave us for dead by the road,” replied Peck.
“Why would they do that?” Mory whispered, although it was unlikely their voices would have been heard over the clamor of wagons and horses.
“I don’t know. People do strange things. Someone tried to kill us, remember.”
“How could I forget?”
Mory’s haunted gaze felt like a punch to the gut. Peck couldn’t imagine what Mory had gone through. “Do you, um—”
“What?” said Mory.
Peck shook his head and stood again as they trudged back to the road. “Never mind.”
Mory fell back in line beside him. “No, what?”
Peck looked sideways at him. “Do you remember being dead?”
“I was dead?”
Peck immediately felt bad for bringing it up. “I’m not sure. The apothecary said you were. I didn’t believe it, though. It’s just that, ever since you got better, you look different—like you know more. I thought maybe you remembered what it was like—being where you were.”
Mory scratched his head. “I don’t feel any different.” His eyes lost focus as he gazed into the not-so-distant memory. “I might remember a woman. She was kind. She sat with me, I think. We didn’t talk much.” He shrugged. “Maybe I’m just remembering the apothecary.”
Peck shook his head. “You and the apothecary didn’t talk at all. You were too far gone by then.”
Mory shrugged again. “Maybe it was a dream. I’m glad I didn’t die, though. Who else would take care of you?”
Peck nodded. “You’re right. I’d be getting into all kinds of trouble.”
“I keep you honest,” said Mory with a cheeky grin.
Peck laughed. “There’s nothing honest about either of us.”
With a troubled expression, Mory said, “Are we bad people, Peck?”
He didn’t answer for a long while. Finally, he exhaled and said, “Maybe a little. Mostly, I think we’re just desperate people. I like to think we’d do good if we could.”
“Would you really give up thieving?” said Mory.
Peck grinned. “I don’t know. I’m pretty good at it. Seems a waste to give up being so good at something.”
Mory nodded. “That makes sense.” After a long pause, he said, “So, how much longer till we get there,” which elicited another groan from Peck.
Peck had to console Mory when they didn’t get there that night. In fact, they were forced to stop long before dark. The caravan that had passed them earlier in the day stopped on the side of the road, beside a creek. Since Mory didn’t know how to swim, they had to make camp as well. They stayed far from the caravan, but Mory was eager for excitement after weeks of walking and begging rides on rickety wagons.
“Please, Peck. We’ll stay in the shadows. They won’t even know we’re there.”
“What’s the point, Mory?”
“I’m bored. It’ll be exciting.”
“What’s so exciting about spying on a bunch of strangers? If we get caught, they’ll think we aim to rob them.”
“Well, maybe we do,” said Mory. “I know I could use better shoes, and you’ve been grumbling about getting some real food since we left the last village.”
“We have nowhere to run or hide. If they see us, we’re as good as caught.”
“All right, so we won’t rob them. Can’t we just look? Even if they catch us, they won’t be able to say we did anything wrong.”
“And if they’re the kind of people that don’t care for facts?”
Mory sighed heavily. He stood and paced in a circle, then crouched back down. After he repeated the cycle four more times, Peck finally gave in. “Fine. We’ll stay far out of the firelight and downwind. Don’t even think about taking anything.”
Mory bounced up with glee. “That’s great, Peck. Maybe they’ll invite us for dinner.”
“No!” said Peck, raising a finger. “We’re not talking to them.”
“All right, all right. I was just joking.”
They grabbed their packs in case they had to make a quick escape and circled wide to the east. They hid their packs behind a few scraggly bushes and got on their hands and knees to inch closer to the camp. The grass and shrubs along the creek covered their stealthy approach, and they were able to get a decent view of the camp from just within hearing distance.
Peck immediately knew something was wrong. He placed a hand over Mory’s mouth when he started to speak. Then he pointed toward the center of the camp, where several people were gathered. None of them looked like the kind of people Peck was used to seeing. The men wore strange clothes and had hair down to their waists. He couldn’t understand what they were saying, but it was obvious they were having an argument.
One of the men waved to the side, and several grotesque monsters with grey, saggy skin stalked forward, dragging a line of bound people behind them. The terrified people had gags in their mouths and ropes tied around their necks and wrists. A taller man, wearing a long white tunic and fitted black pants, withdrew a small stick about the length of his forearm from a bag. He pointed it at the first person in line. Nothing happened, so he went to the next. After several more, he became angry and shouted something. Then the first man drew a long knife and slit the first prisoner’s throat.
Mory squirmed behind Peck’s hand, but he held the boy tight. Peck was afraid to move. The first man went down the line, killing each of the prisoners. When they were all dead, the monsters brought out another line of captives. The taller man pointed the stick at each of them. On the fifth person, an older woman, the tip of the stick began to glow. The man looked pleased. He tested each of the others before having them all killed except the older woman.
The taller man placed the stick into a bag, from which he withdrew a book. He read a passage from the book aloud, then dragged his hand through the air in a squiggly pattern. The first man stepped forward and used his knife to carve a symbol on the woman’s forehead. She cried in pain, but when he was finished, she no longer possessed the look of terror. Instead, her eyes were vacan
t and her jaw was slack, as if she had lost all awareness of her surroundings. The taller man placed the book into the bag and handed it to a younger man, who ducked into a tent. Then the taller man began to ask questions that Peck could understand.
“What manner of magus are you?” said the man.
The woman’s voice was hollow as she answered. “I’m a runesmith.”
The man growled in frustration and turned back to the first. “This is a waste of time. She is only a runesmith.”
The first said, “Some runesmiths are quite powerful.”
“Not in this land,” muttered the taller man. To the woman, he said, “Where are the other magi?”
She said, “I don’t know.”
“You lie!” he shouted.
“She cannot,” said the first.
The taller man inhaled deeply, then said, “Why are they missing?”
“They were recalled,” said the woman.
“Why?”
She said, “Because the prophecy has failed.”
He laughed. “The prophecy has not failed. Everything is happening exactly the way it was foretold. You just don’t like the outcome.”
“Get on with it,” said the first man.
The taller man said, “Why are you not with the others?”
“The evergate nearest me was destroyed. I couldn’t join them in time to leave.”
“So they left?” said the first.
“Gone to another realm,” said the woman.
Both men appeared pleased. They grinned as the woman slumped forward, and the taller of the two dragged the blade across her throat.
Peck motioned to Mory, and they crawled back the way they had come. Once they were far enough away, they began running along the creek as fast as their feet would take them. After several minutes, they stopped to catch their breath.
“Who—who were they,” Mory said between gasps.
“I don’t know,” said Peck, who was bent forward with his hands on his knees. “But I bet it has something to do with Aaslo.”
“Why would you say that?” said Mory.
“He’s a forester. For-e-ster. They live in the forest. Why was he in Tyellí? There are no forests anywhere near Tyellí. Why did he go to the palace? Why was he carrying a head? Why did the marquess want to see him? He’s weird.” Peck hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “They’re weird. It’s probably related.”
Mory’s eyes glinted with fright in the moonlight. He said, “You think they had something to do with the people who tried to kill us?”
Peck shook his head. “I don’t know.” He shook with fear and anticipation. “What I do know is that we need that bag.”
“What bag?”
“The one with the book and stick.”
“Why do we need it?” said Mory. “I don’t want anything to do with that stuff.”
“I know. Neither do I, but Aaslo might need it.”
“Why would Aaslo need it?” said Mory. “He’s not slitting people’s throats—at least, not as far as I know.”
“They’re full of magic,” said Peck. “That means they’re power, and the enemy has it. If we can steal it, then we can give it to Aaslo.”
“But Aaslo’s not a magus. What would he do with it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe nothing. But at least we can prove to him that we’re useful. He might decide to keep us around.”
Mory’s voice quavered with fright as he said, “Is that something you worry about, Peck? Would he turn us away?”
Peck regretted his words. He said, “Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of things if that happens.” He didn’t want to admit to Mory that he worried about it often, especially since they had finally gotten up the courage to leave Tyellí. The apothecary had let them keep most of Galobar’s money, but it wouldn’t last forever. Also, Peck wasn’t much of a fighter, and he knew Mory felt safer with Aaslo.
After working out the plan, Peck and Mory summoned their courage and slunk back toward the camp. The two men who had performed the horrid ritual were seated at the fire with their heads bent over a map rolled out on a folding table. The monsters patrolled the perimeter seemingly at random. Two of them nearly collided with each other, then stood for several seconds studying one another, as if confused about whether or not they had found an intruder. The creatures weren’t completely oblivious, though. They scanned the darkness using all their senses, tilting their heads toward sounds, sniffing the air, even licking it every so often. At one point, a raccoon dared sneak too close to one of the wagons. A grey monster was on it within seconds, ripping its flesh apart and eating all it could stuff into its mouth before another of the monsters stole the carcass.
Peck shivered with disgust and anxiety, already regretting his decision. He was determined to go through with it, though. He waited until there was a gap in their patrol, then darted toward the target tent, the one with the magic stick and book. He got the same thrill every time he approached a mark. It had the sweetness of excitement and the sourness of anxiety all wrapped into a tasty package. He controlled his breathing with practiced ease and listened for movement from within the canvas structure. As one of the monsters passed, he held himself against the side of the tent in the darkest shadow. The monster wasn’t looking into the camp, though. Once it had passed, Peck untied two of the laces that held the material to a corner post and peered inside. It was dark, with only the smallest amount of light from the campfire glowing through the canvas and streaming in through a gap in the front flap.
He released a few more ties and slipped through the opening. As soon as he was inside, he knew he’d made a mistake. He hadn’t looked for the younger foreigner before entering the camp. The man was lying on a bedroll with his back turned, but Peck doubted he was asleep. No one could fall asleep that quickly with so much grunting and growling just outside the tent. Peck didn’t think he’d be able to sleep knowing those monsters were within fifty miles.
As Peck inched closer, he realized the man had stuffed wads of material into his ears. Peck wondered how anyone could feel secure enough to intentionally dispense with their ability to hear while sleeping alone. He searched the tent, moving as little as possible, and came up with nothing. The only place he hadn’t yet looked was with the man. He knew nothing about these people except that one or more of them was a magus and they liked to kill people. Suddenly, a shadow was just outside the flap. It yelled something in a foreign language, but the young man didn’t move. Just as the flap was pulled aside, Peck fell back into the corner, curled into a ball, and pulled a half-empty sack over himself.
He recognized the voice of the man who had wielded the knife against the innocent victims. Peck peeked between the folds of the sack. The man rattled off a few words, then growled as he stepped into the tent. He grabbed the younger man by the foot and yanked him off his bedroll. The younger man shouted, then pulled the fabric from his ears as he scrambled to his feet. They had a brief exchange; then the younger followed the other one out. Peck nearly jumped out of his skin when something jabbed him in the back. He lurched and turned to find Mory blinking at him through the opening.
He was furious that Mory had come into the camp, but he couldn’t voice his feelings at that moment. They needed to find the bag and get out. The younger man hadn’t taken it with him, so Peck scrambled over to the man’s bed. There, beneath the roll, was the bag. He grabbed it and almost ran into Mory as he turned back to the opening he’d made. He pushed Mory toward the opening but forced him to a halt before the boy ran right out in front of one of the monster sentries. Once the thing had moved on, Mory stepped out of the tent. He suddenly drew up short with Peck on his heels. Mory had come face-to-face with one of the monsters.
The monster looked at Mory curiously, and Mory stared back. Peck knew Mory was probably frozen with fright, just as he was in that moment. The monster abruptly turned and walked the other way. Peck was so shocked, he forgot to move. Mory had already made it into the grass before Peck started to
breathe again.
After making it out of the camp, they didn’t stop to chat. They ran the rest of the night. When they were so worn they couldn’t possibly take another step, they took turns napping, then got up and ran some more. They bypassed every town they saw, avoided every traveler, and stole food from barns, silos, and chicken coops along the way. The farther they got into Ruriton, though, the rockier the highlands and boggier the lowlands became. Goats and swine were more prevalent, but farms were fewer and mostly consisted of rice or potatoes.
Besides their grumbling bellies and overworked muscles, Peck’s greatest worry was that magi could somehow track their stolen possessions. He had never before stolen from a magus. That was one line he never would have crossed in Tyellí, and he had made sure Mory knew it, too. He hadn’t made many mistakes as a thief. Thieves who made mistakes didn’t live long. His greatest folly had been stealing a nasty old sack from a worn traveler with a crazy horse outside a building that looked like a tree.
CHAPTER 21
“What’s that idiot doing?” said Aaslo.
“I think he’s scared of your arm,” replied Teza.
“I would be, too.”
Aaslo tried to ignore the offensive appendage as much as possible. He clenched the fist and then released it. He didn’t know which was worse, the fact that it felt foreign or that it was becoming more familiar. “I can’t blame him there,” said Aaslo, “but he’s being ridiculous.”
Teza nodded. “Yeah, it’s kind of weird behavior for a horse.”
They were both on foot as they led the donkey and pack mule down the road. Meanwhile, Dolt kept pace with them from at least twenty yards away. When they stopped, he stopped, and when they continued, he did as well. The donkey and pack mule had been wary when Aaslo first made it back to their campsite, but both had quickly adjusted to the foreign smell. Dolt, however, was being stubborn as usual and wouldn’t allow Aaslo or Teza near him. Unfortunately for Aaslo, his pack was tied to the horse’s saddle, so he hadn’t been able to change his clothes in two days. He was glad that at least the rain had stopped, but he worried every time he saw dust in the distance that they were about to encounter other travelers. With his new physique, he figured they were most likely to kill first and avoid asking questions.