by D. M. Almond
CHAPTER 14
From floor to ceiling, the Council of Twelve chamber room was awash in white marble. Rows of seats were set in a semi-circle around the perimeter of the room, forming two curved tiers where the Council of Elders held court and, on occasion, invited members of the aristocracy to sit in. They were almost full today.
The Elders did not always meet in private. In fact, many hearings were often held publicly so all could witness their glorious justice system. Speakers would stand in the middle of the white room, where often a pulpit would be setup. Large metal plates with solid steel rings set in them were fixed to either side of the central area, which prisoners could be chained to while on trial. It was not always a place for criminal trials, of course, with many laws being passed, debates being addressed, or support being given to the newest cause.
Unfortunately, Corbin was there for none of those reasons. In fact, he was actually rather perplexed as to why the council had called upon the house of Lady Penelope to send for him in the first place. Every member of the Council of Twelve was in attendance, as well as a handful of other dignitaries he did not recognize.
Corbin knew Magistrate Fafnir and recognized Lady Cassandra from the night before, when everything went south at the gala. However, he still could not figure out why he had been summoned. Did they really mean to punish him for his brother’s accused crimes? Was he really to pay for Logan’s sins in the wake of his cowardly flight from the capitol?
“Corbin Walker, you have been summoned before the Council of Twelve. We see you,” Arch Councilor Zacharia said, formally opening the proceeding.
“We see you,” the other ten chanted. The room had an odd way of bouncing sound back and forth against the walls, giving an illusion of other-worldliness that raised the hairs on Corbin’s neck.
The Elders sat there, all eyes on him, waiting for some sort of response.
“I…see you, Councilors?” Corbin meekly said.
“That will do. Let the proceedings begin,” Arch Councilor Zacharia said, gesturing to an older woman who began recording the conversation with a quill and ink.
“Corbin Walker, your brother has been charged with the heinous murder of the honorable gnome, Barthalameu Beauford of the house Ul’Brox. It has been duly dictated by this council that he must be brought in for questioning, to stand the Trial of Truth.” Zacharia paused, waiting for Corbin to reply.
“Your Holiness, I wish there were some way I could be of assistance, but...”
“But? But what? There can be no but in justice,” Zacharia said sharply. “There can be no gray area in the lines of black and white that make up our morality. This Council has given the matter great deliberation…great deliberation indeed. There are those in favor of immediate execution.”
Corbin gasped. He had always been taught that every citizen would have their trial if accused of crimes.
“Be at peace, Corbin, we mean not to follow that point of view just yet,” Elder Augustus said. Corbin noticed Magistrate Fafnir sneer slightly at the man’s statement.
“Nevertheless, the crimes of your brother must be answered for,” Fafnir said. “Otherwise how can anyone expect your village to remain in proper standing within New Fal? We do not intend to send any aid to the rebuilding of Riverbell until this matter has been properly tended to.” The magistrate received cross looks from several of the Elders for speaking out of turn.
Zacharia waited until the magistrate settled back down before returning his attention to Corbin. “We do not intend to send any aid to the rebuilding of Riverbell until this matter has been properly tended to.”
“Your Holiness, I do not understand any of this,” Corbin said. “Last I was informed, my brother was seen fleeing the city into the wildlands. How can we handle this matter without him, and why would the people of Riverbell be penalized over his actions?” Corbin made sure to address Arch Councilor Zacharia directly. As scared as he was of openly questioning the wisdom of his leaders, he demanded justification for the sudden retraction of the support his people were in dire need of receiving.
“There has been much debate over Riverbell’s involvement in the recent skex attack,” Zacharia said. “Rumors have been flying around the capitol that this has all been part of a larger plot fabricated by your people, who fueled the insect swarm for the sole purpose of gaining notoriety that could be later used to gain influence over this Council, thus growing a power that could be used for rebellion.”
Corbin could not believe his ears. Had the whole world gone mad?
“It has been decided that you will be sent into the wildlands to prove your people’s innocence. If you truly believe in the glory that is New Fal and hold no ill will toward our way of life, you will bring your brother back here, where the Council will try him fairly and the truth will be known. If you refuse, we will have no choice but to believe the rumors are true and will move to immediately excommunicate the village of Riverbell and all of its citizens from our Kingdom.”
Eyes wide in shock, Corbin took a shaky step back. “B-but...it’s...I...s-surely you cannot believe we are traitors to the kingdom?” he stammered, wishing Elder Morgana was there to help them see reason.
“No. We can see your truth,” Elder Augustus said. “You are an honorable young man who is clearly devoted to the ideals that make up our kingdom. However, that could simply mean you were not aware of your brother’s plans and does not exonerate others in your village who could likely be your brother’s co-conspirators.”
“It has been decided,” Zacharia said. “We present you with two options today. You can either agree to go to the wildlands and bring Logan Walker back to Fal, where we will hear him and judge as our law dictates. Or refuse us and we will have no choice but to cut ties with Riverbell.”
“I am the very servant of the Kingdom, milord,” Corbin said. “My people have ever only acted in accordance to our laws. We are proud to be citizens of New Fal, and I fear I must be bold here. What you are saying is unfair to those families in Riverbell who have done nothing to deserve such slanderous accusations.” Corbin firmed his resolve, unable to stand by idly while false words were being spoken about the people he loved.
“And what of Mr. Beauford?” Fafnir said. “Was it fair that he was murdered?”
Zacharia shot the magistrate a look that could freeze fire.
Elder Victor cleared his throat and spoke up. “There are many viewpoints here, young man. If we cannot get to the truth, we will always lean toward the worst scenario, erring forever on the side of caution. In this way, the Kingdom stays strong, with ever-vigilant protection from that which could bring us harm. By delivering your brother back to Fal, you will prove your loyalty to the citizens, and none would dare question the allegiance of your people.” As the respected member of the Council spoke, other members nodded in agreement.
“I fully understand and vow to do what must be done,” Corbin said, holding his head up high. “I will leave for the wildlands on the morrow to find and bring my brother back.”
“You will have exactly thirty days to do so,” Zacharia said. “May Baetylus be with you, son of Riverbell.”
He closed the proceeding with a triple tap of his small wooden gavel, and a pair of muscle-bound guards carrying thick tridents moved forward to usher Corbin out of the antechamber.
As soon as he stepped into the hall, a young freckled boy with curly, mussed, blonde hair made a beeline for him. “Master Corbin Walker?” he asked.
“Yes?”
“This is for you, sir, please sign here,” the boy said, shoving a small ledger in Corbin’s hands. No sooner had he scrawled his name on the parchment than the boy placed another scroll, this one neatly rolled up, in his hands and zipped back down the hallway, on to his next destination.
Corbin unrolled the curious little letter, reading,
Come meet me before the 11th hour,
I want to help, come alone
84 Sycamore Lane, 2nd district
Outside the court
house, Elise stood vigil waiting for him beside the carriage Lady Penelope had leant them. She was wringing her hands together when he emerged. Once she saw him, she ran over and wrapped her arms around him.
“I was so worried!” she exclaimed.
“You and I both,” Corbin said, hugging her tightly before gently pushing her back to arm’s length so he could look in her blue eyes. “They have commanded me to go to the wildlands and bring Logan back.”
“That’s madness!” Elise replied, horrified at the thought of him going outside the kingdom into the dangerous wildlands.
“I agree, but there is nothing I can do. This task must be taken care of.” He spoke somberly, having accepted his fate back in the antechamber, knowing what was at stake.
“No, I’ll talk to them. I’ll…you cannot be expected to go out there into the wilds for something Logan did. I will make them see reason…I…”
“Dear sweet Elise, my love, if I do not go, they will excommunicate Riverbell. It will be a sign that too many will view as proof of some tale of our conspiracy for your title and to hurt the capitol.”
“Has the whole world lost its senses? We loved Elder Morgana with all our hearts. Why, she practically raised you and Logan single-handed. What in the world would make them think we could possibly imagine hurting the Kingdom…and to what end?” Elise’s anxiety was quickly shifting into anger. “To top it off the whole business is ludicrous. Logan is a wool-headed lout, he is a good many things at that. I mean the trouble he gets into is…well, it just riles me up to think about all the stupid things he has done over the years. But a murderer? Never will I believe that your brother could hurt an innocent.”
Corbin knew it was this bold passion that Elder Morgana had seen in her which marked her capability to lead an entire village.
“Agreed,” he said, “which is all the more reason for me to go out there and bring him back to his senses. It was foolish to run away like that. The only thing he accomplished was making his guilt ring true in the Elders’ ears. At the end of the day, Logan has gotten himself into this mess. I have pulled him out of the fire too many times to count, and I’ll not be doing it again, not this time, not when he has risked the lives and freedom of every person we know. He will come back here and be seen by the Elders, even if I have to drag him kicking and screaming across the wildlands.” Corbin tucked her hair behind an ear with his rough, calloused hand.
“And if he is found guilty?” she asked, staring up at him doe-eyed.
“Then he will deserve the judgment given,” Corbin replied evenly.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was late into the evening when Corbin made his way around the corner of Sycamore Lane, counting down the numbered doors. Forty-eight was just across the path, but there was no one about. He had begun walking up the steps to knock on the house door, when a young woman in an odd get-up stepped out from behind the bushes, whistling low for his attention.
“Follow me, Mr. Walker,” she whispered, quickly ducking down a side alleyway.
Corbin looked at forty-eight Sycamore Lane then back at the girl, who was almost lost in the low-hanging evening fog, before deciding to follow. Her blonde hair flowed in two bushy locks behind her neck under a wide-brimmed hat that looked like something from a children’s story about pirates. They moved quickly through the tight alleys, left then right then left, and all the while she kept looking back over the high collar of her black trench coat, keeping an eye on the way they had come.
Suddenly she stopped short and grabbed the rung of an iron ladder to the right that was built into the stone wall of the alleyway. Corbin followed her lead, scaling the building. Once at the top, she went past some raised garden beds into a tiny brick alcove and gave a series of raps on the wall. For a moment there was only silence, then a hidden door creaked inward, revealing a candle-lit room beyond. After they entered, the door closed back up by itself.
Removing her oversized trench coat, the girl politely offered to take his pack.
“No, thank you, I prefer to keep this on me,” Corbin replied, gripping the straps a little tighter around his shoulders. He had too many supplies inside and was leery of handing them over to some stranger who just had him running through the city streets.
“Ah, you have arrived, and right on time too,” Lady Cassandra said, pleased to see them, as she stepped into the room, smiling.
“Your letter piqued my curiosity, milady,” Corbin said with a slight bow.
The old woman’s eyes were twinkling, belying a genuine warmth of spirit, as she nodded appreciatively. She did a double take at his tour guide’s attire and rolled her eyes.
“Oh, Jayne, would you take off that ridiculous hat?” she said.
Jayne’s cheeks bloomed like a rose and she hastily removed the hat, hiding it behind her back.
“You can be an odd little duck sometimes, girl,” Lady Cassandra mused, clearly in a loving manner. Corbin noted that this young woman was close to the Lady, more than just a servant of the house.
“Milady, I do not want to speak out of place, but why have you brought me here tonight? Surely you heard today at the Council antechamber that I have pressing matters requiring my immediate attention.”
“That is precisely why you are here,” Lady Cassandra said. “I want to offer you some assistance in the matter. You have every right to decide whether you will take it or not.”
“In what way? Do you have proof of Logan’s innocence?” he asked hopefully.
“If I had that, there would be no need for this conversation. It was I, however, who convinced the Council to extend your time to find Logan and bring him back here.”
“So you do believe Logan is innocent?” Corbin asked. “I heard you defending him the night of the gala, but I must confess to not understanding your motives. Do you know my brother?”
“No, I must admit, it was only in passing that we met. Mr. Beauford, however, was long a friend to my house, and I did see the two of them together that night. It was obvious the gnome trusted your brother. Otherwise, he would never have stepped away for a private chat in the first place. They were not acting hostile toward each other in the slightest, so I’ve had more than a bit of a hard time believing him guilty.”
“I still don’t understand,” Corbin said.
“Let me cut to the chase, then,” Lady Cassandra said. “You were brought here tonight for the opportunity to gain great power, young man. A gift which will surely aid you in your search for Logan, as well as your survival on the other side of the wall. If you agree, I will tell you more, but you must promise to see it through to the end. If you do not wish to go any further, say so now, and Jayne here will escort you back to Sycamore, where no doubt Fafnir has men searching for you as we speak.”
The idea that the head of Falian lawmen would have people waiting for him was alarming. “Surely the magistrate would not dare interfere with the council’s orders?”
The women joined each other in a delighted titter at the young man’s naivety, which they found both amusing and refreshing at the same time.
“The last thing that man wants is for you to bring Logan back here, where the Arch Councilor can pry into his mind and see the truth of it,” Lady Cassandra said.
Corbin stood in silence, doubtful that the magistrate could be anything other than what he seemed.
“Well, Mr. Walker?” she prodded. “Are you in, or are you out?”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Elder Morgana had always said, You never realize just how good you have it until things change. Or maybe she hadn’t. Logan could not remember one way or the other, and did not really care anyhow, but for some reason, the infernal expression kept playing through his head.
Either way, the wildlands were living up to their reputation, leaving a pang in his heart for dull old Riverbell. The finality of running off into the deep dark, away from his friends, away from his brother (who might be a pain in the arse, but he was Logan’s pain the arse
) had set in. There was no going back to New Fal for him; that road would only lead to Fafnir’s version of justice, and he saw just how that played out firsthand back at the Grey Crow. This would be his home now, at least until he could figure out some other option. Logan kept telling himself he would be okay, he just needed enough time to sort things out.
The wildlands were much darker than he was accustomed to, the wall of Fal obscuring much of the Great Crystal’s light. Still, it did radiate enough to sustain a decent amount of plant life, though it was surely less than the lush valleys of New Fal. It had not taken long for his eyes to adjust to the change in lighting. For him, the strangest part of the wildlands was how much lower and tighter the cavern became. He could actually see some of the giant roc-bats sleeping upside down overhead with his naked eye. Back in Riverbell, you had to climb Mount Grantuntite to get even the slightest glimpse of the flying beasts hanging around the great rows of stalactites.
No doubt the ceiling here was still plenty high, but the new distance gave him a feeling that the world had just grown smaller somehow. There were no paths out here in the wilds, no roads to guide the way, not that he was stupid enough to stay on one and be caught, should Fafnir send men out to bring him back. Everywhere the landscape was riddled with unchecked growth.
Logan made his way through the night, cautiously staying close to the large stalagmites that jutted up over the landscape, like the bony fingers of buried giants. In the stories he had heard growing up, there was always talk of ravenous beasts that roamed the untamed wilds. Although they filled his childhood daydreams with fascination, now that he was actually out here, he held no desire to meet one.
A radiant pool of water lit up the area ahead, throwing an eerie dim blue glow from its surface across the rocky area. Logan crept up to the glowing pool, careful that nothing lurked in wait for him among the grass, reeds, and thick tree that had grown around it.
Feeling confident nothing dangerous was in the area, he dropped down to cup some of the water in his hands for a drink, letting the cool liquid run down his throat, satisfying the dryness in his mouth. Drops of water spilled from his hands, forming ripples over the surface, each glowing like a blue halo as it grew wider and wider toward the outer rim. Unbuckling his pack, he found a leather flask, which he dipped into the pool, patiently waiting until all the air bubbles disappeared.
Logan snapped his head to the east, hearing something rustle in a small outcropping of trees. Slipping the canteen back into his bag, he rolled sideways, firmly tethering it back in place over his shoulder. He inched his head up through the tall reeds to try to get a better look at what was coming.
The brush rustled at the base of the trees, and a small piglet scurried toward the pool. The tension released from Logan’s shoulders, immediately replaced by a growling in his stomach. This would make a fine supper and give him rations enough to last a week at least. Food was scarce from what he had seen thus far. He knew he needed to trap the swine while the opportunity presented itself.
The spotted piglet stopped short, as if sensing his thoughts. It sniffed the air for a moment, and Logan thought it would bolt back into the trees for sure. He wanted to squeal in delight when the piglet continued along its merry way to the pool of water. He slipped Elder Morgana’s laser rifle from the holster on his back, slowly edging forward on his belly and steadying his target.
Probably only get one shot at this. Don’t blow this, Logan, there’s no telling when you’ll get another chance like this one, he thought, carefully lining up his aim on the little swine, which gingerly lapped water from the tiny pond.
The piglet’s ear suddenly twitched and it bobbed its head in the direction it had just come as more rustling came from the crop of trees. Logan grew excited. The piglet was enough of a reward, but another hog would be a miracle, and this one sounded much larger!
A ferocious growl ripped through the air, and out of the brush leapt a cait. Propelled high by muscular hind legs, the feline predator closed the distance between the outcropping and the pool with one giant leap. Its front paws landed squarely on the piglet’s back. The swine squealed as the six-foot-long predator’s massive front claws tore into its sides, pinning it helplessly to the ground. The piglet thrashed about in an attempt to escape its doomed fate. The cait growled, whipping a snakelike tentacle tail over its head to sting the prey on its side, filling the pig’s blood with paralyzing venom. Within seconds, the wounded animal went limp as the deadly poison crippled its tiny nervous system.
Logan had grown stock-still, muscles locked in place, and his heart was beating so fast he was actually worried he might pass out.
Nodules of light pulsed across the cait’s forehead, running down the glossy blue-striped skin of its back, as it feasted on the pork dinner. A high-pitched howl came from the west, causing Logan’s heart to skip a beat when the cait perked its head directly in his direction to sniff the air. Throwing its muzzle back, the cait called back to another member of the pack with a low, deep, throaty howl. Its tentacle reached down like it had a mind of its own, plucking the slowly dying piglet up to its fanged jaw, and the cait dashed off to meet its sister and share in the bounty.
A wave of dizziness and nausea washed over Logan as the moment of danger passed. He had been only a couple steps from the dangerous predator, and it was way too close for comfort. He knew he would have to be a hundred times more careful out here in the wilds, unless he wanted to be the next piglet. Wiping cold sweat from his brow, he rolled over onto his back, getting a good view of the darkness above through the boughs of the tree, and imagining one of the terrifying caits was watching him from the shadowy recesses of the jagged stalactites lining the ceiling high overhead. There was no telling what lurked behind the deep shadows of these untamed lands he now roamed.
Switching gears, Logan forced himself to smile at his good fortune in narrowly avoiding the dangerous predator. However, his reverie was quickly broken by another rustling from the same crop of trees.
Does everything in the damned area live in those woods?
Rolling back onto his belly, he tried to get an eye on what was coming and was more than a little shocked to see it was not an animal at all, but a man. The stranger was running low to the ground, scanning the area for what Logan assumed was some sign of the cait.
What kind of a nut job would try to hunt a monster like that? Logan wondered.
The hunter kneeled by the radiant pool of water, examining the bloody tracks left in the wake of the killing, and grunted. He scanned the area to the west and north and set down his weapon, resigning himself to fill his flask. With the lid back in place and weapon in hand, the man headed back the direction he had come without so much as a sideways glance.
Looks annoyed to have lost his dinner, Logan thought, his curiosity piqued by the unexpected arrival of another human. Hopping up to follow, he made sure to stick firmly to the shadows, feet graceful, gliding through the brush. He moved with no sound at all, staying a safe distance behind the man.
Once they were in the woods, he found it to be an easy task to remain hidden behind trees and bushes. The man never had a clue he was being followed, or if he did, he was the best bluff Logan had ever witnessed.
Their path led them deeper and deeper into the wild woods. They stopped at the edge of a tree line, where the ground opened up to a wide chasm. The only way across was a makeshift bridge, which was nothing more than a fallen tree someone had stripped and set in place.
Logan waited until the stranger was across and out of view before creeping up to the lip of the ravine. The drop was deep enough that he could not see the bottom, disappearing into a pitch-black abyss. Falling down there would be certain death. No way was he going to try a different route, though, if he wanted to keep up. His mind was screaming to stay on the man, to see where the hunter came from.
Logan carefully made his way across the log, which rolled slightly under his weight, chips of bark rustling off into the chasm
below as his feet scraped across the dead wood. Once safely across, it took him a few minutes to find the stranger’s trail again.
Soon enough he came to the outskirts of a camp, where he stopped to scan the ground. As he suspected, hidden beneath dead twigs and leaves was a series of taut ropes that worked around the perimeter of the camp, attached to small piles of animal bones and rusty metal. It was a good way to set up an alarm system. This way if anything nasty stumbled on the area, the hunter would know. Even if it was a sloppy job at best, it was still clever.
Five large makeshift tents made from a combination of various animal skins, twigs, and leaves surrounded the campsite. Between the tents were a few shoddily built tables, practically overflowing with a smorgasbord of ratty supplies.
Three men were having a conversation, huddled around a campfire in the center of the area. Logan worked his way in closer, hoping to hear what they were discussing. He guessed they lived here permanently, setting up a camp such as this as a way to survive. They were a rough-looking lot, wearing shabby, tattered clothing, which was filthy. Getting a good look at their unkempt facial hair, Logan appreciated the risk he had taken to retrieve his backpack, knowing he had a straight razor inside. He never felt truly awake until after he shaved in the morning. But as scruffy as these men looked, they definitely looked like they could handle themselves.
“From the remains, a cait must have swiped that damn hog I were tracking,” the hunter was explaining to his companions as he set down his bow and took a seat beside the fire, which was nothing more than a tree stump.
“Hel…I wish you did bump into that cait,” one of the men said. “That would have been some good grub!” The men chuckled together.
“Yeah, can you picture me trying to carry one of them back here by myself?” The hunter threw another log into the fire, poking it in place with the end of a long metal rod, then rubbed his hands together over the flames to warm them.
The third man set a rotisserie of something that looked like some plump mushrooms and a skinned rat, tail intact, over the blaze. Logan was disgusted by the very concept of eating a rat, but his stomach had a different opinion altogether when he caught a whiff of the roasting meat. He was both shocked and disgusted with himself to find his mouth watering and belly growling.
“Well, from the sounds of it you brought something large enough back with you anyhow,” the cook said, sitting down and turning his head in Logan’s direction. “You can come on out now, stranger.”
The other two men jumped to their feet with weapons in hand, just as surprised as Logan by the man’s cunning observation.
Standing up straight, Logan coughed loudly to clear his throat. He smiled as genuinely as one could with arrows and axes pointed toward them. With arms raised and palms facing the men, he gave a shrug. “So I guess there’s no need to announce myself?”
“Aye, and who in bloody blazes are you then, eh?” the hunter he had followed to the camp demanded, poking his axe forward with each word. Logan thought he looked pretty angry that he had been unwittingly followed.
“Just another victim of the system, friend,” Logan said, hoping to alleviate the tension by relating to the men.
The hunter shared a dark look with the others. This was not going to turn out well if Logan could not somehow convince them he meant no harm.
“Look, I wasn’t trying to be sneaky. I just wanted to check you out before I revealed myself. Back home, you hear a lot of weird stories about the wildlands. Can’t know which are true or not, and never thought I would need to anyhow.” The more he spoke the guiltier he began to feel for sneaking up on these men. I seemed like a good idea at the time, but now he felt like a bandit. He gave the cook a weak smile.
“Settle down, boys, no need to get all hostile with our guest,” the cook said, casually calling off his men. “Bruno, fetch the lad a chair, will ye?” he ordered the large man, waving for Logan to have a seat by the fire. “What’s your name, kid?”
“Goodly met, sir, Logan Walker,” he replied evenly. As annoying as it was to be called a kid, there was no reason to let himself get worked up.
“Name’s Maxwell, and this here be me house. That there’s Bruno, and our jumpy friend, who you so easily followed here, is Wart.”
While Wart shot Logan a dark look for making him look bad in front of his boss, Bruno plopped down another stump with the grin and glazed eyes of a dimwit.
“I apologize for the cloak and dagger,” Logan said. “After what I’ve been through in Fal, and all the stories of dangers out here, you can imagine my trepidation.”
“What’s a trepidasie, Max?” Bruno asked.
Up close in the firelight, Logan could see them better. Maxwell was built like a small ox, but his teeth, like those of his companions, were rotting or gone entirely. Wart was appropriately named, having three yellow boils on his face, one of which harbored a long black hair. Bruno was large and pudgy, smelling like old cheese left out to rot.
“Right then, Logan Walker,” Max said, “and I’m sure you will appreciate me companions here being a little quick to overreact, having a stranger traipse unannounced into our home?”
Logan smiled back at the man and gave a nod of acknowledgement.
“Do us a bit o’ damage with that fancy rifle you got there, if ye had wanted, anyhow,” Maxwell said, stoking the fire with a rusty poker. “Where did a young lad like yourself come across such a fine weapon?”
“If I’m not mistaken, we didn’t get sent out here by following the rules, eh, Max?” Logan said, throwing him a cocky grin.
“What did ye do then to be sent over?” Maxwell probed.
“Me, oh I’m no different than you,” Logan said, immediately sensing it may not have been the best recourse, as Maxwell bristled a bit.
“What’s that supposed to mean then?” Wart asked for his boss.
“Means I’m innocent. Must have been a misunderstanding with the law.” Logan chuckled, not backing off.
Silence washed over the group, and the area grew uncomfortable for a moment that stretched on too long. Then a low rumbling laugh grew in Maxwell’s floppy belly, rising until he was slapping his knees and howling. The other pair joined in the merriment, though Bruno clearly had no idea why they were laughing.
“I like this kid!” Maxwell proclaimed, settling himself down.
He passed out chunks of the cooked rat, which the men eagerly tore into, grease dripping from their lips and running down their dirty chins. Logan tentatively pulled off a small piece and sampled it, careful not to show his disgust. The last thing he wanted was to offend his new friends’ hospitality. He found rat meat tough and greasy at the same time, yet surprisingly satisfying to the hunger pangs wracking his gut.
The cook gave a knowing, toothless grin, seeing this was the first time Logan had tried it. “Ah, you’ll get used to it, kid. I know the feelin’, we all went through it—‘cept Bruno, he’ll eat anything. Thinking back to a time when I was repulsed at the idea of eating whatever was available…can’t really say I can picture it no more,” Maxwell reflected, staring into the fire, his thoughts drifting to a past Logan could only guess at.
“How long have you been out here?” Logan asked.
“Long enough,” Wart grunted, his companions nodding in agreement.
The four of them sat around the fire, sharing stories late into the night. Maxwell was upset by the news of Mr. Beauford’s death. It seemed the gnome’s claims had been true to an extent. Wildlanders did find Acadian artifacts for the gnome, who would trade them for rations or supplies, but they found them out here in the wilds, not on the surface. Maxwell broke out a tiny glass bottle of clear liquor after dinner to give a toast in the gnome’s memory. The four of them got to know each other by telling their tales, sharing jokes, and even singing a couple fireside odes, until Bruno was passed out in the dirt and Wart had wandered away to his tent to sleep.
“Well, it’s been a good night, it has,” Maxwell
said. “But the time has passed for these old bones to get some rest. Ye go ahead now and take Duck’s tent over yonder. He hasn’t needed it for weeks since a grappler got ‘im.” Maxwell pointed over to an unoccupied abode, groaning as he rose.
“I sure do appreciate it!” Logan said.
“Lotsa dangers out here, kid. Get some rest and we can talk more in the mornin’. Start getting you educated right proper to the way of things ‘round here.” With that, Maxwell retired to the largest tent.
As Logan headed to his shelter, he could not help thanking Baetylus for his good fortune, something rare for him to do. As he drifted to sleep, he wondered what Corbin was thinking about at that moment and wished he could somehow let his brother know he was safe.
