Servant of a Dark God (49 page)

Talen thought of Da in the hands of the Mokaddian Council. This news was not going to help him there.

Resentment began to build in Talen again. If only Legs and that Sugar girl hadn’t shown up. Why couldn’t they have gone to some other member of this Sleth nest? Why couldn’t Da have turned them away?

He couldn’t because he wouldn’t. That was Da. And even if he had, sooner or later something would have happened. You can’t sow deceit and not expect to eventually reap its bitter fruit. But all that didn’t matter anyway—assigning blame wouldn’t get him out of this mess.

They had to get to the Creek Widow’s. They had to get there quick. Talen counted to six hundred. His heart beat like a drum in his ears. He measured his breaths.

The squirrel they’d heard earlier chittered again in its tree.

Slowly, Talen turned around so he was facing the beech. Then he leaned ever so slowly until he could just peer around the side of the smooth trunk.

Both of the remaining two Shoka were in the woods on this side of the road. They were crouched over, slowly moving forward, weapons at the ready. The bowman carefully stepped over the fallen pine where the third Shoka had been sitting. They were listening, watching the woods.

Talen pulled back.

By all that was holy! They must have caught something of his and Legs’s last quick move to the beech. But they obviously hadn’t seen the movement clearly enough, or they would have been focused on the exact tree.

Up ahead was a line of clumped-up shorter pines and growth. If they could get behind that greenery, they’d be hidden. Talen took Legs’s hand. “Run,” he said.

They ran, but it was clear that running wasn’t going to get them very far. Legs stumbled. Then he cried out and stumbled again. Talen gripped Legs’s hand tighter and hauled him to his feet.

The Shoka shouted and called for them to stop, but Talen kept moving until he and Legs skirted the end of the clump and were well behind the thick boughs. This small line of pines ran to the dry bed of a brook. And while the undergrowth on the short banks of the brook might be tall enough to give them some cover, there was no way he and Legs could outrun the two Shoka. They’d corner them soon enough.

“Show yourselves,” one of the Shoka called.

There was no time to dither. “Come on,” Talen said. “Just a little farther.”

He had a plan. He doubted it would work. But something at this point was better than nothing. The ground here was slightly rocky. He couldn’t imagine running on it blind. But that’s what had to happen despite the sharp edges of the rocks and branches.

Legs stumbled once more on the way to the dry brook bed, but he did not cry out. He did not reveal their position.

“I want you to keep low and move down this dry brook bed. I need you to draw their attention.”

“You’re leaving?”

He couldn’t squat here and jabber. “Just keep their attention.” Talen rose and dashed back to the line of pines. He needed to get on the other side so he could circle around behind the two Shoka. Of course, this wouldn’t work if the Shoka had decided to split up.

Just before he got to the other side, Talen stopped. He looked down the edge of the line of trees. Nobody was there. Maybe they ran back to the road for help. That would give him and Legs time. But that hope was short-lived.

“Stop and show yourself,” one of the Shoka called. “We see you there in the brook.”

“I’m nobody of any account!” Legs shouted out.

“Then stand and show us who you are.”

Good, Talen thought. They didn’t know they hadn’t cornered two hatchlings. Not yet. He slipped to the far side of the line of trees and carefully made his way down the line.

“Promise you won’t hurt me,” said Legs.

“We’ll promise you nothing.”

Talen had his arrow nocked, a second in his bow hand.

“I’m going to stand up,” said Legs.

Talen took a few more steps and realized that his way was clear from this side of the pines. He could be across the road and into the woods on the other side before these Shoka realized their mistake. He could leave Legs and save himself. Claim he’d been entranced by the hatchlings, taken prisoner after their monster had attacked their farm.

“There were two of you,” said a Shoka. “Where’s the other?”

“He won’t stand up,” said Legs.

“Get up,” the Shoka commanded. “Or we’ll shoot your friend. And then we’ll hunt you down and shoot you.”

“Stand up,” Legs pleaded. “They’re going to shoot me.”

The little man was quite the actor. And under the threat of death to boot.

Talen took a breath to brace himself, then he quietly continued down the line and turned the corner.

The Shoka with the bow stood only a few paces away, his back to Talen. His bow was drawn, the arrow pointed at Legs. The boy with the short spear was moving up and to the right, probably trying to flank Legs and his imaginary friend. Legs stood a few yards from where Talen had left him, his whole torso rising above the banks of the brook bed

“Stand up!” Legs said. He flailed his arms as if Talen were hunkered down right next to him.

Talen took a careful step. Then another. He raised his bow. Took another step reaching out with his toes.

“This is your last warning!” said the Shoka. He pulled the arrow back the last few inches to his cheek.

Talen recognized him. He’d competed with him before in the Shoka practice musters. He was young, even if he did have the clan tattoo on his wrist.

“Put the bow down,” said Talen.

The Shoka startled and twisted to look at Talen.

Talen took the last step and brought the sharp tip of his iron arrow point to the young man’s neck. “No,” said Talen. “You’re not quick enough. Don’t even think about it.”

The bowman’s eyes went wide with fear. “You,” he said. Then the fear was joined by something else. A decision?

The bowman’s aim had been altered, and Talen didn’t want him to get it back. “Legs, get down.”

Legs dropped back into the bed of the brook.

“Nobody needs to get hurt,” said Talen. “Just toss your weapons.”

Neither Shoka moved.

“You know who I am,” said Talen. “I could have drilled both of you with an arrow while you were doing your sneaking. And I will if you don’t listen to me.”

“You’re going to have to kill me, half-breed,” said the bowman. He didn’t say this in defiance or anger. He said it as if resolved to his fate, and Talen gave him points for bravery.

“No,” said Legs. “We’ve got something else that will do that for us.”

The bowman’s eyes widened enough to reveal his fear.

“He can squish up both of you like rags,” said Legs.

Huh, Talen thought, that was too much squeak. It was one thing to threaten a Mokaddian. It was quite another to claim they had some Sleth monster on a leash. This mire just got deeper and deeper.

The boy tossed his short spear aside. “Don’t hurt us.”

“Put your bow down,” said Talen.

For one brief moment Talen thought he was going to have to kill the Shoka. He didn’t want to. He had nothing against him. And it would do their cause no good to add another Mokaddian death to it. Talen could see the calculation in the Shoka’s face. Then he relented. He released his draw, then dropped the bow and arrow onto the pine needles at his feet.

“Knives too,” said Talen.

Both Shoka unlooped the knives at their waists and cast them aside.

“On your bellies over there,” Talen said and pointed to a flat spot of ground.

Legs decided that was the time to step out of the brook bed. When he got to the top of the short bank, he walked, both hands in front of him, one high, one low.

“He’s the blind one,” the bowman said.

“Indeed, he is,” said Talen. “Now move.”

They didn’t have much time. The third Shoka could be returning this very moment to the road. He might have his dogs with him. Nevertheless, he waited for the two Shoka to move. By the time they were on their bellies, he stood by the Shoka’s bow.

“Legs,” he called. “Unstring this bow at my feet. We’re going to tie them up.”

Fifteen minutes later Talen and Legs were making their way toward moving water. There was at least one river and two creeks between them and the Widow’s and they’d have to use all three now that dogs might be involved.

The Shoka’s bow string hadn’t been long enough to bind both Shoka to different trees. So Legs had cut two strips off his tunic to use as rope and two more to use as gags.

“Do you think they will stay put?” asked Legs.

“Oh, I think your little eye show gave them quite a scare.” That and the fact that he’d married his freaky eye-rolling with odd gaggings and contortions. It was quite an effective method to cow the two so they didn’t try anything stupid while Legs tied them up. It had almost put Talen himself on the run.

And when the one Shoka had asked what was happening, Talen had played it up. And why not? How could the story get any worse? His family had already been caught harboring the hatchlings. They’d already been connected to the monster. And, despite the usefulness of claiming the hatchlings had enchanted them to do their bidding, there was no one else in the family who might be tempted to say such a thing. Truth be told, even he wasn’t going to give into that. Besides, they needed time. An hour’s head start might not even be enough if the dogs came.

“You know full well what he’s doing,” Talen had said.

The Shoka had taken it, as intended, for Slethery. And then the bright idea had come to Talen to say he believed Legs was calling the monster to watch them, to make sure they didn’t run.

Oh, yes. Talen was in this up to his neck.

Now the question was not if he was going to die. It was only, when? And would it include a lot of torture?

He thought of Da in Whitecliff. Surely, Uncle Argoth would protect him. Surely, Uncle Argoth would be able to convince Lord Shim. Because Talen certainly wasn’t helping him any.

Talen stopped before a clump of poison ivy. “We need to move faster.” Much faster. They needed to get to the first creek and wash their trail away. Then they needed to get to the river. Maybe float a bit.

“I can’t,” said Legs.

No, he couldn’t. His bare feet were already bloody in three places.

“Too bad you really can’t call that monster,” Talen said and unstrung his bow. He put the string in an oiled leather pouch that hung from his quiver and told Legs to hold the bow staff. “Raise your arm, brother Sleth. You’re going across my shoulders.”

Legs raised one arm.

Talen took it by the wrist, bent low, grabbed Leg’s ankle with his other hand, and stood up straight.

“Right,” he said. It was like lugging a sack of beets. That’s all this was. He adjusted Legs to more evenly distribute his weight. Then he plodded forward, around the clump of ivy, over a flat of rock, and then on to a game trail no wider than his foot.

TRAPS

A

rgoth ate at the Shark’s Tooth like a starved man. Eggs, sausage, thick cream on cherry biscuits. He stopped a serving maid as she walked by. “A bit of salted lard,” he said.

She bowed and hurried away. Lard, suet, butter, or cream—it didn’t matter. What Argoth needed was great quantities of bread and fat, for that was what softened the hunger that would come when he multiplied himself.

The sun had not yet risen, but the Skir Master wanted an early start. “Is the Captain easy at sea?” asked Uram.

“I regularly run the dreadman’s course, including the two-mile swim,” said Argoth. “And these are not tropical waters.” He bit into a juicy link of sausage.

“An admirable habit,” said Uram.

“Indeed,” said Argoth. “One can do worse than modeling the diet and activity of dreadmen like yourself.”

“But what about the captain’s stomach? Fatty foods on a rolling ship has laid low the strongest of men.”

A man spoke from behind in a dry voice. “There’s no need to worry, Zu. Lord Iron Guts will not lose his breakfast.”

Shim stood holding a mug of ale, a wide grin cracking his leather face.

Argoth considered Shim for a moment, but he saw no sign that the man had come to betray him.

“Some lords prove their stamina by drinking the hardiest of men under the table. Not Lord Porkslop, he buries them with a mountain of food.”

“Blighter,” said Argoth with a mouthful of eggs. “I didn’t see you arrive.”

“Of course, not,” said Shim. “Not with a plate of sizzling hog-tail sausages calling you like a lover.”

Argoth grunted, then patted the stool next to him.

Shim sat with his mug. “Captain,” he said to Uram. “Have you ever seen the like?”

“He does have a prodigious appetite.”

“Prodigious? I dare say Argoth’s stomach is by itself a force of nature. It is wise to keep all fingers outside the range of his fork.”

Argoth reached over and grabbed Shim’s mug. “If you don’t mind?”

“I do.”

But Argoth slipped it away, quaffed three gulps, then set it back down in front of Shim. “Nothing like a bit of ale with your eggs, eh?”

Shim looked into his mug. “Or a bit of eggs
in
the ale.”

It was like it had been; this was the man he loved, and Argoth laughed. In front of Uram, they discussed the defenses of the land, who would take Argoth’s place. But when they stepped out of the Shark’s Tooth onto High Street and began to walk down the cobblestone street to the wharves, Shim turned serious.

“I received a love letter,” he said.

“Oh?” asked Argoth.

“Yes, they always want some proclamation, some proof. I daresay I don’t know whether to write a stinging rebuke or show the sender some of my family history.”

Shim reached into his coat. He retrieved an object, and then grasped Argoth’s hand and placed it in it. “My great-great-grandfather made that.”

Argoth glanced down at it and closed his hand again. It was a weave, an ancient dead thing that looked like it should hang from a necklace, but a weave nevertheless.

Shim put his arm around Argoth like a friend. “Have I proven my love?”

Shim was not a dreadman. That meant this weave was his or one loaned from another. In either case, it meant he had placed himself in grave danger because possessing such a thing was a crime punishable by death. Unless, of course, he was part of this Skir Master’s plot.