Slight and Shadow (Fate's Forsaken: Book Two) (26 page)

Someone else must’ve been watching Ludwig’s barn, then.

Kael knew he’d been incredibly lucky. Had the moon not been full, he never would’ve seen it. A large part of him hissed to leave it at that — to turn around and go back the way he came. But curiosity clung to him like grass beneath his shirt, itching all the more furiously as he looked about the room.

Moonlight fell from the peppered holes in the roof. He saw a small bed, its sheets yellowed and stiff with dust. A dresser leaned against the wall, slightly cockeyed on a broken leg. A short desk sat across from the bed …

And there, sitting on top of the desk, was a book.

It was covered so thickly in dust that Kael might not have seen it, had the shadow cast by its spine not given it away. He couldn’t help himself — he had to look.

He stepped quickly over the cobweb spell and made straight for the desk. The dust clung stubbornly to the wet on his palms as he brushed it away, revealing a tome bound in black leather. There wasn’t a title on its front. When Kael turned the book over to check the spine, the entire front cover fell off.

Whoever owned it last hadn’t taken very good care of it. He hated to see any book ruined, even the exceptionally boring ones in Amos’s library. He picked the cover up and was surprised to find a loose leaf of paper beneath it. His first thought was that the whole blasted book must’ve been coming apart in pages. But when he looked closer, he saw that it wasn’t a page at all.

It was a letter, folded over and sealed with wax. There was no name written on it, so he had no clue who the letter had been meant for. He realized he would never know …

Unless, of course, he opened it.

Kael broke the seal with his thumb and unfolded the letter. His eyes followed the hurried words through the moonlight:

I’ll admit it — I never believed Churl when he said there was something suspicious about Lord Gilderick. Vile, depraved, contemptible — yes. But
suspicious
? I hardly thought so. He’s been quite out in the open about his black-hearted humor. One can’t really have any suspicions about it.

But Churl didn’t listen. He went up to the castle to poke around and got himself tortured. I suppose that’s what happened to him. There weren’t any wounds on him, but now he carries on like such a madman that there really can’t be any other explanation.

Poor fool. Had he kept his wits a little longer, he might have been able to claim the reward he earned — the one I now plan to take from him.

He returned from the castle, wild-eyed and muttering gibberish, and thrust this book into my hands. I don’t know why, but I hid it from the others. And now I’m so glad that I did. The giants are far too stupid to read, so I’m convinced that Churl must have stolen it from the castle library, from Gilderick’s personal collection. From the moment I read its title, there was no mistaking what it was: the literature of the enemy!

What purpose Gilderick might have in hoarding it, I do not know. But this is a serious offense against the crown. If I am able to turn Gilderick over to Midlan, I might earn my way out of this boiling grass bowl. It shouldn’t be too difficult to capture him: one netting spell ought to do the trick.

Though I am confident, I am also a cautious man. If you are reading this, it means something went horribly wrong. My advice to you is to burn this cursed book and flee as far as your legs can carry you — if you are free to do so.

If not, may Death find you before Gilderick does.

-Ludwig

Kael read the haunting words once more, slowly piecing the mage’s story together. There’d been more to it than a leaky roof — much more, by the sound of it. He wondered what sort of book might call down the wrath of the King. And more importantly: who was
the enemy
?

He knew that if he wanted answers, he’d have to open the book. He sat Ludwig’s letter aside and turned the first crackling page. The second page was blank, as well. But he found the book’s title scrawled across the third:

The Dreadful Journeys of Ben Deathtreader
.

Well, it was no small wonder that Ludwig thought the book was cursed. As if the title weren’t hair-raising enough, the words themselves had a darkness to them: every letter was drawn sharply, every line pressed down and slashed across the page. It made the words look rather … sinister.

Kael was deciding whether or not he should turn the next page when a noise drew his eyes across the room.

A man dug through the dresser behind him. When Kael saw the black pants and scarlet tunic, his heart very nearly leapt out of his chest. But then he noticed the gray feathers sprouting from the back of the man’s head, and realized it was only Eveningwing. He must’ve found the clothes stashed inside the dresser: now he was opening and closing the filthy drawers so zealously that Kael thought for sure someone would hear him.

“Quiet!” he hissed, waving for him to stop.

Eveningwing’s hands dropped obediently to his side. He stood, fidgeting for a moment. His head flicked quickly towards the dresser, then back — as if he was trying his best not to look. His head swung back and forth several times before Kael finally hissed:

“For mercy’s sake, what is it?”

“I found a knife.” Eveningwing pointed at the top of the dresser, where the curved end of a blade glinted in the moonlight. “Do you want it?”

“Sure.” Kael caught the knife by its handle. It was simply made, with an iron blade and a hilt carved from bone. “Sit there and don’t move,” he said, pointing Eveningwing over to the dusty bed. “This will only take a moment — I’m going to read Jonathan’s letter while I have the chance. And then we ought to get out of here,” he added, with a quick glance at
Deathtreader
.

He scanned Jonathan’s note. It was mostly about how he still hadn’t been able to charm his way into the ladies’ room. The margins were packed full of woeful poems, each more miserable than the last.

Kael didn’t have time for Jonathan’s nonsense. They were trying to escape, after all — and he didn’t care if the fiddler felt like
a rose with all thorns and no bloom
. In fact, it took a considerable amount of effort to keep himself from crumpling the letter and hurling it out the door. He opened the second leaf, hoping that it would be more useful than the first.

This bit of parchment had been filled with crude drawings of the castle. It was easily the worst map Kael had ever seen: the hallways were wavy and uneven, the doors were often too big for the walls they sat in, and absolutely nothing was labeled. He didn’t even know which way to hold the page.

So he wrote, in very large letters, for Jonathan to label everything as precisely as he could — and urged him to find a way into the tower.

Nothing I plan will work,
he added,
if we aren’t able to free the women.

He turned to hand Eveningwing the letter, and saw that he wasn’t sitting on the bed. He’d wandered over to the desk and was thumbing his way through
Deathtreader
. His amber eyes flicked across the tattered pages, widening in interest as they scanned the sinister letters.

Kael was furious. “I told you to stay p …”

His words trailed away as he caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye. He’d forgotten about the cobweb spell. Now the thread shimmered in the moonlight, catching the beams as it trembled back and forth — moving, even though the air was still.

Kael shoved the letters into his pocket, his heart hammering. “Did you touch the spell?”

Eveningwing looked confused. “No. Maybe. What spell?”

Kael pointed to it and Eveningwing dropped down on his knees, squinting at the floor. “I can’t see it. I don’t have mage’s eyes.”

But Kael didn’t hear him: he was far too busy staring in horror at the orange light that had suddenly materialized outside the cottage door — a light that grew steadily brighter as someone plodded up the stairs.

Chapter 23

Scalybones

There were no other doors out of the cottage, and the holes in the roof weren’t nearly large enough to climb out of. Kael searched frantically for a means of escape, but they were completely trapped — cut off by whoever was coming up the stairs.

“Hello?”

Kael froze when a pale face appeared in the doorway. A mage in nightclothes glared sleepily about him, waving his lantern halfheartedly in the darkness. After a quick moment, he seemed to give up. With a sigh and a muttered string of curses, he reached to close the door.

Eveningwing, whose face was still inches from the dusty floor, chose that very moment to let out a loud sneeze.

“What — what was that?” The lantern light swelled to a blaze as the mage leapt inside. He saw Kael immediately — standing in open-mouthed shock before the desk — and a tail of fire erupted from his fingers.

Kael acted quickly. He leapt in front of Eveningwing and hurled the curved knife in the same breath. Fire washed over him, the taint of magic burned his nose. He gasped against it for a moment.

Then he caught the smell of something far worse.

His knife had struck true. The mage’s lantern hung limp in his hand. He pulled the knife from his chest and stood, gaping at it. Blood leaked out from his wound. The stench of magic filled the air like a cloud. Kael could taste it in his throat, on his tongue. He had to stop it. He had to stop that blood …

The next thing he knew, Eveningwing’s arm was around his neck. Kael couldn’t breathe. He didn’t know how long he’d gone without breathing. His limbs went numb and his head rocked backwards as his chin struck the ground. Only then did Eveningwing release him.

They were outside — he could feel dirt scratching at his face. The world spun as Eveningwing rolled him onto his back. Two amber eyes blinked down at him.

“You tried to —
kill
me,” Kael gasped, clutching his sore throat.

Eveningwing shook his head vigorously. “No no — I saved you. You were killing him so loudly that I knew someone would hear —”

“Killing who?” Kael forgot about his pain and shot up to look in the direction Eveningwing pointed.

The mage’s body lay a few paces in front of them. His lantern was shattered and lying on its side, its light extinguished. Kael could see the knife hilt sticking out of his chest. A dark puddle glittered under his torso.

Eveningwing crouched at Kael’s side, his brows raised so high that they’d disappeared into the crop of his hair. “Now I see why you lied to the giants about freeing me — you’re a Marked One.”

“A what?” Kael said hoarsely. He still couldn’t believe what he’d done. He stared at the mage, blinking furiously and hoping that it was all just a horrible dream.

“A servant of Fate,” Eveningwing went on. When Kael still looked confused, he drew a line down his chest with the side of his hand. “You have the mark.”

Kael’s hand went to his chest instinctively. He could feel the red, raised scar even from under the fibers of his shirt, and he knew he’d been found out. “Please don’t tell anyone,” he said, trying to think of a way he might explain it clearly. “Bad things will happen to me if the giants discover what I am.”

“Of course not,” Eveningwing replied, sticking a finger to his lips. His eyes darted down to Kael’s chest, and he fidgeted.

“Fine. But only this once,” Kael muttered. He raised his shirt and watched the awe light Eveningwing’s face.

“I’ve only ever heard stories,” he said, eyeing the mark. Then he sat back and his face became serious. “I think Bloodfang would’ve been pleased. He would’ve wanted to die fighting such a worthy opponent.”

Kael didn’t want to talk about Bloodfang. His heart was still too raw. Besides, there were far more pressing problems to solve. He looked back at the mage. “What are we going to do with him?”

“I think you’ve killed him enough.”

“No, that’s not what I meant. We can’t leave him out in the open …” An idea came to him, and he pointed back to the cottage. “Get the sheets off the bed. I’ll meet you back here.”

“Where are you going?”

“To find some rocks.”

He found several the size of his fist laying around the courtyard, and one the size of his head. He stuffed the smaller rocks into the mage’s clothes, trying not to look at his wounds.

There were quite a few of them.

When Eveningwing returned, he pulled the blade free and offered it back to Kael. But he wouldn’t take it. “Look at what I’ve done,” he said, waving to the mage. “I completely lost control. There’s no telling what horrible thing I’ll do next.”

“You weren’t being horrible — you were protecting yourself. And me,” Eveningwing added with a smile. But when Kael still refused, he stuffed the blade into his pocket, muttering that he’d hold onto it for a while.

They worked quickly: setting the mage on the sheets with the rocks and tying it up tightly. When everything was secure, they carried him to the latrines. Kael took the brunt of the weight while Eveningwing staggered along behind him and kept the mage’s legs from dragging the ground.

Kael only had to follow the stench to find the Pens’ latrine: it was festering line scored deep into the earth — as wide as a man, stretched the length of several giants, and filled to the brim with the foulest brand of filth that Kael had ever stumbled across.

On any other occasion, the smell alone might’ve sent them running in the other direction. But tonight, the latrine would serve them well.

They tipped the mage over the edge, and the filth immediately sucked his body down — stirring up such a horrible stench that it knocked Kael backwards. He felt his meager dinner rise up in his throat, but somehow managed to swallow it back.

Eveningwing was not as lucky: his rabbit came up so violently that he nearly tripped in his rush to get away. “Humans are so — filthy!” he coughed, dragging his sleeve across his mouth. “Why would you
pile
your waste? Leave it in the grass and let the rain take care of it!”

Kael managed to drag him away, but he still caught Eveningwing glaring back at the latrine every few steps, a look of disgust on his face.

*******

Morning came far too early. Kael hadn’t slept at all that night: his stomach twisted and bubbled, making any sort of rest impossible. He thought constantly about the mage — and about how foolish he’d been.

There was no telling the sort of chaos the mage’s death would cause. What would happen when the others found him missing? Gilderick would probably ride down from his castle and begin lopping off heads immediately. Would he torture the mages? Flay the guards?

Or … would he blame the slaves?

Kael’s blood chilled at the thought. If that happened, he knew he would have no choice but to give himself up. He wouldn’t let anybody else die for his mistake.

With that grim realization, he spent the night staring out of the hole in the roof, his ears clogged with the giants’ contented rumblings. It was amazing how beautiful the stars looked, when he thought it might very well be his last chance to see them.

The doors screeched open at dawn, and Kael joined the silent line of giants as they plodded out of the stall. He was so lost in dark thoughts that he didn’t notice that Brend had stopped — until he’d already bounced off of him.

“Steady, wee rat,” Brend said as he plucked him from the ground.

None of the giants had made it out of the door. They were stuck in the aisle, crowded together and grumbling sleepily to one another. The Fallows shoved their way through, walking dumbly towards the exit.

Kael couldn’t see over the wall of brawny shoulders in front of him. When he asked Brend what was going on, he shrugged.

“Eh, I can’t see all that well. Just about the time I go to stand on my tippy-toes, the fellow in front of me has the same idea.” He shifted his weight impatiently for a moment before he finally began shoving his way forward.

Kael grabbed hold of the back of his shirt and followed in his wake. Brend was not as thick as most of the others, so he was able to slide through the cracks between bodies. It didn’t take him long to weave his way to the front of the line.

When he saw what awaited them, he let out a furious growl.

News of the mage’s death must have already reached the castle. Now a horde of Gilderick’s guards swarmed the area around the water troughs. They lifted things and looked beneath them, poked tentatively through the high grass with their pikes, and generally tried to keep their eyes away from the barns — where the slaves were growing restless.

They crushed together, leaning out as far as they dared. “Bloodtraitors,” Brend hissed, loudly enough for the closest guards to hear him. “Blood-suckers and cowards, every one. Oh, what I wouldn’t give for a go at them — any one of them! I’d thresh their flesh from their bones with my bare hands.”

The other giants seemed to feel the same way. In fact, Kael thought the only thing that kept them from starting a war right then and there was Finks: he stood in front of the door, his legs splayed and his whip unfurled. Dangerous-looking blue light danced and crackled down the length of it.

Just when Kael feared the giants might surge forward anyways, two familiar figures cut in front of the door.

The first man was Hob. He spat in angry lines, waved his hands about, and nearly had to lean the whole way back to glare into the face of the giant he spoke to.

General Dred was just as hideous as Kael had remembered him. Though now he had a fresh purple bruise on his cheek to add to his horrible, lip-curling scar. “Tell me the truth, spellmonger,” he growled. The sharp edges of his teeth poked out from under his warped lip, making him look more menacing than usual. “If you’ve figured out someway around the spell —”

“Then we’d be long gone by now, I can promise you that.” Hob pulled on the sleeve of his tunic, revealing the iron shackle clamped around his wrist. “There. Satisfied?”

Dred’s scowl deepened. “His Lordship demands an explanation, and I intend to get one.”

“Well, then maybe he should’ve sent someone other than a stone-headed giant.” Hob’s mouth bent into a mean little smile. “Was there any evidence? Did Stodder leave a note behind? Think about that carefully, now.”

It was obvious that Dred was desperate for help, because he ignored Hob’s taunting and thought. “We found a smashed lantern and a puddle of blood in the courtyard,” he said after a moment. “Maybe the lions got him.”

Hob rolled his eyes. “Sure, they probably popped the door right open and dragged him down the stairs.”

“Well, maybe he wandered out into the courtyard.”

“Why would he do that? He knew there were lions!”

Dred turned to glare at the barn. “Maybe one of them did it.”

Hob grinned — and spat a generous amount of his chew out between his front teeth. “The
slaves
? You think one of these slobbering oafs slipped his way out around our spells? That’s got to be the stupidest thing I’ve heard since you opened your mouth. Oh no, General — it looks like you’re stuck,” he said gleefully. “Can’t say that I envy you.
I
certainly wouldn’t want to be the one to break the news to Gilderick.”

For a moment, Dred looked as if he’d very much like to wrap one of his massive arms around Hob’s head and pop it from his shoulders. But he seemed to decide against it. Instead, his lips twisted into an unsettling smile. “And I don’t envy
you
, mage — whatever got Stodder is still out there. You’d better hope we find it quickly … or you might just be next.”

Hob’s face pinched tightly around his chew. Finks, who’d been listening in, went slightly pale. And Dred seemed to think his work was finished. He ordered his men back to the castle with a wave of his bulging arm. He’d gone to stride off when Brend suddenly shouted:

“That’s a right nasty bruise,
General
!” He thrust a finger at the mark on Dred’s face and said, even more loudly: “See how His Lordship kicks his loyal dog?”

His shouting drew a round of raucous laughter from the giants in the barn. They whistled and slapped their knees, daring Dred to come closer. And unfortunately, he did.

Kael cringed when Dred stomped towards them. The knotted tangles of muscle that lined his arms bulged out, and his thick veins strained against their swelling. Brend should’ve just kept his mouth shut: there was no way they could hope to beat Dred, if he decided to pummel them.

Just when Kael was preparing himself to be snapped in two, Dred suddenly stopped. He stood an arm’s reach from Brend, glaring at something behind them. After a moment, his warped lip fell back over his teeth and he spun away. It was only after he’d marched several yards into the distance that Kael dared to look back.

Declan stood behind them; his face was calm and his arms were crossed tightly over his hulking chest. He watched unblinkingly as Dred retreated. His stony eyes seemed to hang onto the general’s back.

“So not today, then,” he whispered, so faintly that Kael had to strain to hear him. “But someday soon, Dred. Someday soon.”