As soon as he had gone out of the door, Archer hissed, “Did you see that?”
“See what?”
Archer ignored his own advice and leaned forward, eyes bright. “He had the Heather Stone fragment! It was in his pocket! I saw it when he went past!”
It was all Wick could do not to twist and stare after Prentiss to see if he could spot the stone too. “You're sure it was the Heather Stone? Absolutely certain?”
“Yes.”
Wick tried to keep calm, but his excitement fizzed inside him like a swarm of bees. “If he has it on him, we should go after him and see if we can get it.”
“Straight out of his pocket?” Archer asked, and Wick saw a devilish gleam in his eye. “You want to jump him and steal it right off of him?”
Wick tried to keep his dignity intact. “It seems like the most straightforward way of getting the stone. This isn't like the seraphs. We don't have a clue where in his house he would hide the stone while he sleeps. If we wait until after he's asleep tonight, it could take us hours to find it, and in that time he could wake up and sound the alarm.”
“Aren't you still afraid of being recognized?” Archer asked, raising his eyebrows.
Wick's chair suddenly felt less comfortable, and he fought the urge to squirm. “If one of us were to incapacitate him– hit him over the head, maybe– he would never see either of us. We would just have to find a quiet spot along the way.”
“Maybe I can make a criminal of you, after all,” Archer said in a voice of wonder and leaned over to clap Wick on the arm. “That's the plan of a true mastermind.”
“Hardly. I still refuse to do any of the thieving,” Wick insisted. “That's all up to you.”
Archer's smile faded, and he nodded grudgingly. “I guess small steps are fine, too.” He scrounged a few dripping coins out of his bag. Leaving their money on the table as Prentiss had done, the two of them got up and left the tavern. Archer had the nerve to thank Anna for the meal as they left.
“Honestly,” Archer said in a low but self-satisfied voice as they walked down the path, “I've been waiting a while for you to believe me and let me do what I do without being a massive pain, but I never expected you to end up being the one making the plans.”
“You haven't made me a criminal that easily,” Wick said.
Archer looked his way with his brow furrowed. “Why not?”
“While you were talking about how I was looking like I was keeping a secret, I heard the men at the other table talking about robbing Prentiss later,” Wick confessed. “They felt he didn't need or deserve the amount of money that had come his way or something like that. If we didn't do anything, people could get hurt, and the Heather Stone could fall into the wrong hands.”
Archer's mouth twisted down. “I should have known you'd have a greater good sort of plan going on here. Still, you were the one who voted to jump him, so I'm still considering this a win on my part.”
“Whatever you want,” Wick said, feeling a sigh build up inside of his chest.
The rain had stopped, and while it was darker now than it should have been for the time of day, there was at least enough light to walk by. It was just bright enough to still see Prentiss clearly on the path ahead of them. Prentiss walked quickly, head down, shoulders hunched, but for the time being he seemed to be more focused on getting home than paying attention to his surroundings. For the time being at least, he hadn't noticed them following him.
The dirt path passed into a bit of forest standing between the inn and the rest of the town. It was dark in the thick of the trees, and as Prentiss turned around a corner, out of sight, Wick knew that this was the place they would have to catch him.
He turned to Archer to tell him, but Archer was well ahead of him. By the time Wick realized he had moved, Archer had picked up a large piece of fallen branch and raced around the corner after Prentiss.
Wick heard the surprised yelp just before he too turned the corner.
Prentiss had been ready for them. Throwing Archer against a tree, he spun on Wick with eyes like fire. “You thought I didn't see you following me?” he spat. “The both of you are worse robbers than even those fools at the inn would have been. You can't rob me without my knowing about it!”
He threw himself at Wick.
The momentum took both of them to the ground. Prentiss grappled to wrap his hands around Wick's throat while Wick thrashed, desperately trying to throw him off. Never in his life had Wick needed to fight for survival like this. Prentiss had a kind of madness in his eyes, and somewhere deep inside Wick's mind, he knew that if he didn't take control of the situation now, Prentiss would kill him.
He got one hand against Prentiss's face, trying to push him off, but it wasn't working. Prentiss's madness was giving him more strength than Wick possessed.
Wick's other hand, caught under Prentiss's knee and held to the ground, found something solid and heavy. He wrapped his hand around it and jabbed his free hand into Prentiss's stomach. Prentiss gasped. His hands didn't lose a bit of grip on Wick's throat, but his knee lifted just enough for Wick to tear his other hand free and smash the rock against the side of Prentiss's head.
Prentiss dropped like a stone.
Beside the path, Archer slowly sat up, rubbing his shoulder from where it had struck the tree trunk. He stared at Prentiss where he had collapsed in the grass, and then at Wick as he dug through Prentiss's pockets, trying to find the Heather stone.
“I didn't think you had it in you,” Archer said in a stunned voice, checking himself all over for damage before getting up. “Is he still alive?”
“I don't know!” Wick said in a flustered voice. “I don't know how to tell. Which pocket did he have the stone in?”
“Uh, the inside pocket next to his right hand,” Archer said. He came over to where Prentiss lay, presumably to make sure he was still living.
Wick found the pocket and dug inside. His fingers found something smooth and hard at the bottom. The fragment of the Heather Stone. Wick drew it out and rubbed his fingers over the surface. It was whole, undamaged, probably just the way it had been the moment the centaurs had broken it from the rest of the Heather Stone. The humans had taken good care of it after all.
Laughing voices floated down the path toward them, coming from the path to the inn. The other three men were on their way.
“Let's move!” Archer hissed, jumping to his feet and leaving Prentiss where he lay. “I don't want to be caught off guard twice!”
Wick didn't argue. Scrambling up himself, he tossed the Heather Stone fragment to Archer, and the two of them took off into the shadows of the trees. They had just skidded out of sight and hidden under some bushes when the shouting began.
The men sounded more infuriated at being beaten to the stone than at how Prentiss was now out cold on the path. Quickly they started forming a plan on what kind of ugly end they would give to whoever had done this, and Wick and Archer exchanged glances. Best to make a quick exit before they were discovered, or they might have to undergo the violent threats the three men were spewing into the night.
The woods were a maze. Too many things overlapped, too many roots stuck out of the ground in the perfect places to trip them as they made their escape. Twice Wick turned to look behind him and ran face-first into tree branches, and three times Archer caught his foot in foliage and nearly fell flat on his face. But they kept running. Humans were unpredictable. They couldn't risk being caught. Somehow, with a lot of ducking and sneaking, they made it a good five miles away from the town without the humans ever finding them.
The fight and then all the running had left Wick drained. Sometimes bright enough moonlight and the light of the stars was enough to last him until the sun came up, but he had used up almost all his energy with the events of the day, and they had a good deal of the human territory still to cross before they would arrive in manghar territory.
After a while of pushing through, Wick finally ask
ed Archer if he'd like to take a rest.
It was then, of course, that it began raining again. They took shelter under a tree trunk fallen across a group of large rocks, but the branches of the tree were not nearly enough to shield them from the heavy rain. Drops and occasionally large splashes of rain made it through the branches and seeped through the bark of the tree. Despite his best efforts, Wick was getting soaked. Archer had his good wing held up over his head to protect him from most of the rain, but Wick, it seemed, would just have to get wet.
He tried to make himself smaller, keep under the thickest part of the log, then suddenly, the rain cut out.
For a moment, he was confused. It was still coming down harder than ever just past the edge of the log, inches from his knees, but he was hardly getting wet now.
A soft brushing noise came from above him, and he looked up to see Archer's other wing extended over his head.
Archer stared straight ahead as though he had no idea what his wing was doing.
“Thank you,” Wick said.
Archer stared out at the rain. “Don't mention it.”
Wick took another hesitant glance up at the wing over his head. The satyrs had been right to describe it as mangled. It must have been broken in the past and then. . . what? It never been set? It hadn't healed correctly? He couldn't guess. Where there should have been a straight line across the main bone of the wing, there was a significant and obvious dip. Another little dip echoed it nearer the tip, making the very last feathers of the wing tuck into the others at an odd angle. In various places, it seemed whatever had happened had assured that the white and grey feathers had not grown back the right way, leaving patches of strange down where there should have been full feathers.
“What happened?” Wick found himself asking. He looked at Archer.
Archer let a long moment pass before he responded, and when he did, the answer was brief, simple, and said in the soft tone of a pained heart.
Archer said, “It broke.”
Outside, the splashes of the dark rain falling from the sky filled the gaps in their conversation. Archer's wing never moved from over Wick's head.
“How did it break?” Wick asked quietly.
For a long moment, Archer's sharp face was full of shadows. He looked almost haunted. Then, like a magic trick, Archer shook off all the shadows and smiled devilishly.
“It's a boring story. I didn't have anything to do one day, and I thought to myself, 'Who needs two wings, anyway? One's plenty', and I snapped it in half. I use it as a battle scar to show my enemies who doubt my strength.” He flexed his arms, still managing a slightly strained smile.
Wick could tell that that ridiculous story wasn't the truth. “Come on, Archer.”
“No, it's true!” Archer leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. He glanced over at Wick. “I snapped it on purpose because I just couldn't take the boredom. I'm better for it.”
Somehow, he was still managing to look pained behind the bright smile. Wick dared to push a little harder.
“Does it have anything to do with how you always say 'they' when you're talking about the seraphs, instead of 'we'?” he asked, not looking at Archer. Archer refused to look at him.
“Do I do that?” Archer asked in a voice that was just a little too carefree to be real.
“You do.”
“Huh.” Archer bounced his knee a little bit, and since his elbows were resting on his knees, his torso bounced as well. “Who knew?”
“Archer,” Wick asked, “what happened to you?”
“No, actually,” Archer said, suddenly more animated as he turned to Wick with a keen expression, “what happened to you? You never cared before, what makes now special? Nothing. I think what's going on is you're so used to being someone people trust that you can't stand when someone has a secret. You think you're too special not to know everything there is to know, so you're going to pry everything out of me even if that's not what I want, just because it's what you want. Everything has to be all about you, Wick, doesn't it? Everything is your responsibility, everything you do is more important than whatever everyone else is doing. It's all. About. You.”
As much as Wick wanted to give a snappy comeback, he had to be the bigger man here. He wouldn't have become everything he was now if he flew off the handle every time someone insulted him.
It was his responsibility to be better than those who would try to get a rise out of him. Plenty had tried before, and he had never felt the need to give them an answer. He was used to this.
But none of them had ever been so painfully right before.
The rain that hit him when Archer whisked his wing behind his back again had nothing on the cold water that had already been poured down his collar.
Chapter ten
A Plan That Can
Only End in Disaster
As he absorbed the light of the rising sun, Wick could feel the cold deep within his bones. The last few days had been uncharacteristically cold for autumn. Archer seemed to be dozing despite the chill, but Wick could feel the cold even through his thick leshy skin.
A distant sound caught his attention. Something sharp, loud, irreverent.
He tried ignoring it. But no, there it was again, louder this time. Something about it bothered him. He opened his eyes, trying to shake off the grogginess that was filling his mind in the sunrise light. He turned an ear toward the sound and listened carefully.
The sound repeated itself, different this time, and a bolt of ice shot through his brain as the realization broke into his fog.
There were voices.
Voices were coming toward them from across the landscape. From the sound of it, it was the three men who had tried to catch them as they fled through the forest after robbing Prentiss. And it sounded like they were catching up.
He shook Archer. “Wake up, we have to move.”
“Hey, that's my line,” a bleary Archer grumbled, scrubbing at his eyes with his fingertips. “What's the problem?”
“Someone's following us,” Wick said, “and now they're catching up.”
Archer sat up quickly. “The same ones from the tavern?”
“That's my guess, too.” Wick couldn't stress his urgency enough. “We have to hurry up and get moving before they see us. There's not much cover to hide under, but if we keep far enough ahead of them, we may get lucky and they might not see us.”
“That would have to be pretty lucky,” Archer said, swinging his bag over his shoulder in one sharp, aggravated movement. “But I've done it before, so it is doable. I'm just saying they just could have made themselves obvious after I caught up on some sleep, that's all.”
They took off across the bare and rocky landscape.
It took some work to keep ahead of their tail. They had to keep in a constant state of motion, always keep an ear out, make sure they weren't losing any speed as they crossed patches of brambles and skirted small lakes. The plains of human territory were not the easiest terrain to cross. The ground was hard and the rocks were frequent, making it extremely uncomfortable to keep moving at the pace required to keep ahead of the men following them. Thus far, it looked like the men were just going in the same basic direction as they had seen Wick and Archer go when they had disappeared in the thick of the trees. They didn't seem to know just yet how close they were to catching them, and Wick desperately wanted them to stay that way.
Archer suggested they keep changing direction and weave a bit to make it harder for the men to follow them, and they did so, all the while still trying to walk faster to keep their pursuers from catching up with them. They wanted to evade detection, not be overtaken while they were trying not to leave a trail.
They were only a few more hours of travel away from the manghar border. Getting there would be fairly straightforward but getting into the bat people's territory was going to be complicated no matter what they did.
Since Wick had been to their territory many times
and had visited their leader in the past, he could almost guarantee the border guards would let him in, but Archer was another matter, and so were the men tailing them. Wick could only hope that the manghar wouldn't let the three humans cross the border, but he couldn't be sure.
Wick tried not to think about the consequences they might be facing or how the manghar would react if they knew what was happening. He just kept walking, making sure they were making good time even though he didn't know what he would do when they got to the border.
At some point, Archer stopped, turned around, and listened for a long moment. Just as Wick was about to hurry him along, he asked, “Do you hear anything?”
Wick stood still and listened, too. The only sounds he could catch were the whistling of the wind and a rustling patch of dry grass. At last, he said, “No, I don't hear anything.”
“Since they couldn't seem to shut up before, I'd say we lost them somewhere,” Archer said, nodding with satisfaction as though he had been the sole person that had kept them from being caught.
“How?” Wick asked. “They were behind us only a few miles ago.”
“They probably took a wrong turn somewhere. I told you, if you weave around like that, people who are following your trail get thrown off.” Archer shrugged. “It's not hard to lose some people. Some are dumber than others.”
Wick didn't even bother to address how Archer seemed to have just described the entire race of humanity as being stupid. There would be no point to it.
Since there didn't seem to be anyone following them anymore, they took a brief break. Archer finished his nap and then ate some watery fruit he found on a tree. He claimed it wasn't bad, and since he didn't drop down dead, it appeared to be edible and not poisonous. Wick got a bit more of the noonday sun and they checked their bags to make sure that they hadn't lost anything in all the running they had been doing the last couple of days. Fortunately, they hadn't lost anything, and even after waiting around for an hour to see if they could hear or see any sign of the men who had been following them, no sign of the three men showed up.
Robbing Centaurs and Other Bad Ideas Page 10
