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.
37
Talen 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.