Servant of a Dark God (48 page)

They left the line of bramble and, as carefully as they could, took a direct route to the road that cut like a pale ribbon through the dark woods. When they came to the road’s edge, they stood in the darkness of the forest for some time watching and listening. When Talen was satisfied they were alone, he led Legs out into the moonlight. Hand in hand they went, Legs keeping his other hand out in front of him so something didn’t smack him in the face. Down the hill they walked, to the first crossroads, a left, over a muddy brook, around the bend where a woodikin had been spotted last year, and along the Misty Falls trail.

Their grip became wet with sweat. “Change hands,” said Talen. He released his grip and switched his bow to the other hand.

“We’ll go faster if you just give me a stick,” said Legs.

“I don’t doubt it,” said Talen. “But the last thing we need is for someone to hear you rattling along. Change hands.”

Talen couldn’t quite believe what River had told him earlier. In fact, the whole incident with the beast was unreal. But her comments about him were more disturbing. So he could handle astonishing amounts of Fire, so what? And the whole business about Mother and the wisterwives, her pouring out her life into him and her odd comment about him needing a flaw. What did it all mean? A hundred questions coursed through his mind. But all of them came back to the fact that he was walking a lonely road in the wee hours of the morning, holding hands with this hatchling like a lover.

“So did your mother teach you anything about the black arts?”

“They’re not black,” said Legs.

“No, of course not. There’s just that ragged grassman killing people left and right and chasing down our women. But other than that, I’m sure the whole business is as pure as the morning’s dew. So, did she teach you anything?”

“She taught me that some people are idiots,” said Legs.

Talen looked down at the boy and his wild hair. “A lot of squeak for a little man. Look, you and I are in the same boat, heading down the same river toward the same rapids. Besides, having been worked on by not only my father and my mother, but now also my loving sister, I suppose I’m more hatchling than you.”

And it was true. Lords and lice, what would the bailiff say now?

They took another few steps in silence.

“Do you trust your sister and father?” Legs asked.

“Do you trust yours?”

“I’m blind,” he said. “I’ve had to trust them all my life.”

“So it doesn’t bother you that your mother is Sleth?”

“ ‘Sleth’ isn’t the word we use,” said Legs. “Weren’t you listening?”

Talen looked at Legs again. Squeak indeed. “Whatever they’re called. The Order then.” And was that just another lie? They’d lied to him all this time. Years of lying. And if they could hide such a huge mountain of stinking cess, then they could lie about anything.

“Your mother lied,” said Talen.

“Yes, she did,” said Legs. “But everyone lies.”

“No, they don’t.”

“Yes, they do. You’re telling me a Mokaddian hasn’t ever pushed ahead of you in some line, and you nodded politely, but inside you were all resentment?”

That wasn’t a lie. That was avoiding a beating. Of course, it wasn’t the truth either. He wondered, was it a lie to swallow your tears when you got hurt so others didn’t think you a child? Was it a lie to act bravely when facing an enemy, even when you wanted to run? Maybe everyone did lie. Maybe the kinds of lies you told defined who you were. And what did it say when the lies were as monstrous as the ones his family kept?

“You asked me if I was bothered,” Legs said. “Yes. But mostly I just feel a crushing nothing where my da used to be. I feel like I’ve taken a step where I thought ground was, but there’s nothing there. And I’m falling”—His voice grew small, as if he’d curled in on himself—“I’m falling. And I have no idea how I’m going to land, or if I’m going to break my neck.”

That was exactly how it felt, Talen thought. “My da says Sparrow was a great man.”

“He was,” said Legs. “He was everything.”

They walked a few dozen yards farther, and when they came to the turnoff that led to the Creek Widow’s, Talen stopped.

“What are we doing?” asked Legs.

“I’m getting my bearings,” said Talen. “Give me a moment.”

If they continued on the current trail, they’d eventually arrive in Whitecliff. And that was the trail he should take. Everyone knew Sleth twisted things. If his family could be redeemed, then only a Divine could do it. But if they couldn’t be redeemed, then they would only spread the poison of these arts to others. He should follow the trail to Whitecliff, to the first official he could find and ask for the Skir Master. He should offer his services to inform on the activities of this Order. After all, who better than a trusted family member? And if they tortured and killed him, what of it? He’d done his duty.

Dawn was coming. It was light enough for him to see quite a distance down the path. He could be in Whitecliff before some of the rich there took their breakfast.

But what if River was telling the truth?

What if?

Following a trusted face—that was how one lost his bearings. You hesitated, wanting to show mercy and patience, wanting to give people the benefit of the doubt, and soon enough you’ve lost all perspective. Soon enough you want justice to prevail only when it is convenient, and then not at all, for by that time your idea of right and wrong is so warped it cannot serve as a standard. Perhaps the only defense against the dark ones was a heart of stone. A heart so hard with righteousness it could carry through the murder of those it loved most.

No wonder the Divines destroyed whole families.

He knew where his duty lay. He should march this blind boy right into the hands of those who sought him.

Still, despite the secrets River had revealed, there wasn’t an evil bone in her body. Nor in Da’s. Or even Ke’s. This he knew. Of course, that didn’t mean they couldn’t have made an honest mistake joining this Order. It didn’t mean they couldn’t have been coerced.

But if what River had said was true, if the Divines really were nothing more than a guild that had chased away all competition, then he’d be making the biggest error of his life. Was it possible that the world was as topsy-turvy as she described, with Divines hunting down those who encroached on their monopoly like greedy merchants and the Creators giving vast powers to commoners?

It didn’t explain the grassman or all the horrifying stories of soul-eaters. But then, it did explain how some Divines fell from grace.

She could be right, even if the possibility was remote.

Talen looked down the road to Whitecliff again.

He owed it to River to give her a chance. He owed it to Da and Ke and Mother. To Uncle Argoth.

It was wicked, but he couldn’t see a better way. Besides, maybe it was his task to walk into the heart of the black forest in which they were lost, find them, and bring them back from shadows and into the light.

He sighed and shook his head. This whole situation was unreal—a tavern story headed for a dark end. He looked down at Legs. “So you don’t know any tricks? No bloody rites? It’s just me and you out here on our own?”

“I can sing you a ditty about a one-legged slave,” said Legs.

“Your mother put half an army to flight and that’s all you’ve got?”

“I can do this,” Legs said. He looked up at Talen, the whites of his eyes rolling in their sockets.

We’d seen that before, and it was even more unnerving in the early morning twilight. “Right,” said Talen. “When we want to make our enemies lose their breakfast, we’ll bring you in.”

“And what have you got?”

“I’ve got my bow,” said Talen. “I’ve got my brains. They’ll get us to the Creek Widow’s. And maybe there we’ll find some clarity.”

Legs cocked his head and held his hand up for Talen to be silent.

Talen looked around. The woods about them were dark and deep.

“Somebody’s coming,” Legs whispered.

Talen listened. At first there was nothing, and then he heard the soft thud of men running on dirt, running down the path that led to the Creek Widow’s.

“Off the road,” Talen said. He grabbed Leg’s hand. “Quick.” The road here was bordered by a few tall pines and some beech, which meant there wasn’t a whole lot of cover. But if they could get fifty paces in, the trunks of the trees would hide them.

They didn’t get fifty paces before three Shoka appeared on the road. They’d barely gotten more than fifteen. There were two bowmen and a spearman. The Shoka stopped, and Talen halted Legs.

“You two take that side,” one of bowmen said. “We don’t want to proclaim our presence.”

None of these three looked to be much older than Talen. One of the bowmen and the young one with a short spear stepped into the woods on the far side of the road. The one who had spoken walked five paces in on Talen’s side. Not straight in front of Talen, but at a slight diagonal from where he and Legs stood. He stopped at the trunk of a fallen pine, knocked off the nub of a branch, then sat himself down.

He was close enough that Talen could have pinged him in the head if he were the target of a muskmelon seed-spitting contest.

Talen carefully took one step back and a twig popped underneath him. He froze.

The Shoka on the pine log turned his head slightly as if trying to listen.

By the Goat King’s hairy arse, Talen thought. He’s going to turn, and I’ve got my bow in the wrong hand.

SLETH

T

alen held still. The seconds stretched into a minute, maybe two. Then the Shoka on the pine turned his attention back to the road.

Talen didn’t dare take another step. He didn’t even dare switch his bow to the other hand. Movement drew the eye. And even though it was yet dark, if he moved too quickly the two across the way would see him. He knew that because he could see them even now.

But he and Legs had to move. Right now, there was still enough darkness in the woods to obscure them. However, in a half an hour the morning would lighten most of the shadows and they would be standing there as plain as day for anyone who just happened to take a gander in their direction.

Slowly, he couldn’t move faster than a snail, Talen reached back with one bare foot to feel the forest floor for a likely spot. He moved a twig aside with his toe and transferred his weight. He turned his head downwards so his voice wouldn’t carry. He whispered one word for every few heartbeats. “Slow,” he said. “Slow.”

Legs turned his head ever so slightly to hear him better.

“Feel. Your. Way. Back,” he said. “Slow. Pause. Slow.”

Legs reached back with his bare foot, found a spot. They moved in miniscule increments. Stopping, moving an inch, stopping, moving again.

A squirrel chittered off to Talen’s right.

Sweat ran down his back.

He moved aside dry leaves with his toes. A mosquito buzzed him. It landed on his cheek, a large smudge at the bottom of his vision. He moved an inch. Stopped. Moved another. He felt the pinprick. He continued to move. Pause. Move. The bug buzzed away with its stolen treasure.

This was taking too long. The morning light was coming too fast. He could see the two Shoka on the other side of the road well enough to make out the colored bands on their arrows. Talen glanced out of the side of his eye. At this pace they weren’t going to make it.

The hoofbeats of a galloping horse sounded along the road. The Shoka stood. Moved forward to the edge of the tree line and looked up the road.

“Slowly,” Talen said.

In moments, Talen spotted the rider through the trunks of the trees. He rode a tan horse. The three Shoka stepped out onto the road, bows and spears pointed at the horseman. The man brought his horse to halt. It was another Shoka, wearing the green-patterned sash of that clan.

“Hoy,” the man said.

The three Shoka must have recognized him, for they lowered their weapons.

“Move,” Talen whispered. He took another step, then another.

“Spread the word,” the horseman said. “The hatchlings have been spotted. Prunes saw them with his own eyes.”

“Where?” one of the Shoka asked.

The tan horse pulled on the reins, trying to get its head. “At the farm of Hogan the Koramite.”

Wonderful, Talen thought. Just wonderful. He knew Prunes. The man had been one of those the bailiff had brought with him to search the farm. Which meant the bailiff must have posted a watch.

They should have thought of that. They should have scouted the woods. For those Fir-Noy armsmen, if for nothing else.

There was an enormous beech with a trunk a few feet in diameter only a few paces away. If they could get behind that, it would hide them. “To your left,” Talen whispered.

“There’s worse,” the rider said. “That grass monster from Whitecliff was with them. It killed Gid. Twisted him up like a rag. The bailiff’s calling a full muster. Half a family’s men to stand their watches, the other half are needed in Stag Home.”

“There’s another nine men down the trail,” one of the Shoka said. “We’ve got dogs.”

“Bring them or keep them with you. We’ve already sent out for five teams of hounds to follow trails in and out of that place. Now, out of my way. I’m off to Lord Shim.”

The rider urged his mount forward. The three Shoka stepped aside to let him through.

Talen and Legs were almost to the beech. One more step.

The rider thundered away.

One of the bowmen turned and sprinted back down the path he’d first arrived on, probably to spread the word to those nine other men.

Talen took the last step and brought Legs with him.

He put his back flat up against the trunk and held his breath. He shifted just a bit to make sure both of them were completely behind the tree. Legs stood up against him, his hair bushing Talen’s chin.

Dogs, Talen thought. Not only did he have to escape with a blind boy in tow, but now he had to deal with dogs.

Before noon today everyone in Talen’s family would be famous. And the bailiff wouldn’t give them an easy pass this time. They’d done more than make a fool of him. They’d stabbed him in the back. No, there would be no easy pass. The bailiff would come with those ice-cold eyes and there would be no deliverance.