by Jeff Wheeler
Tannon studied him. “You didn’t know what you were doin’, did you, boy?”
Thealos fought to sit up and nearly sank back down with the effort. “That depends,” he answered.
“Hmmm?”
Thealos knew he’d have to be careful with what he said. But he was the son of a barter, and he knew how to twist things to his advantage with words. “I saw your camp, Tannon.” He gave the thickset man a cunning look. “At first I wanted to share your fire. But when I saw your little collection, I thought I’d help you.”
“That’s horse trope,” Cropper said. “I saw you. You drew your bow first, Shaden. You were gonna shoot us down and steal it.”
Thealos ignored the comment. He focused on Tannon. “Either I’m a poor aim, or I didn’t mean to kill anyone here tonight.” He knew what the humans thought of the Shae. He had to talk quickly to dispel Cropper’s first impression. “I did get an arrow off,” he continued, nodding towards the fire. “It’s pretty obvious you’re the leader, Tannon. If I’d wanted to harm your group, I wouldn’t have missed you.”
Tannon rubbed his mouth. “He’s got a point.”
“We should just kill him and dump him in the river,” Cropper said offhandedly. It was said in such dispassionate tones that Thealos’ skin crawled.
“Do you want to know why I came so close?” Thealos challenged.
“Because you’re a half-wit?” Tannon replied.
The young Shae shook his head slowly, ignoring the throbbing in the back of his head. Please Vannier, let them believe me. “Because I wanted to read what’s on the Wolfsman sash. That fabric I saw one of your men hold up. You can’t read it, can you?”
The wizened soldier frowned.
Thealos swallowed. “Where did you get it?”
“Don’t trust him,” Cropper warned, shuffling his legs. “He’ll trick you, Tannon. They all do.”
“He can try,” the soldier replied.
“You have the advantage here,” Thealos pleaded. “I’m trying to save my neck. So would you in my place. I’m just trying to show you that keeping me alive will be to your advantage. Can any of you read Silvan?” He looked at Cropper then. “Can’t you?”
Tannon picked up the Wolfsman’s dagger and studied it in the firelight. “How much would this fetch me in Dos-Aralon, boy?”
He grinned. “The dagger of a Crimson Wolfsman? You can’t buy one from the weaponsmith’s guild. I can’t even buy a blade like that in Avisahn. It can be worth a lot to a collector.”
The soldier captain nodded, testing the tip of the dagger with his finger.
“Dump him in the river,” Cropper said. “I hear it in his voice. This one’s a barter.”
Tannon shrugged. “I’ll decide in the morning after we’ve all talked about it. Get some sleep, boy. This might be your last chance.”
Thealos nodded. He didn’t think he would sleep at all.
* * *
What’s your vote, Beck, Hoth?” Tannon asked, hooking his thumbs in the wide brown belt. The Wolfsman dagger had joined the others in the brace he wore. Thealos remembered how quickly he used them. Swallowing, he glanced at the last two in Tannon’s Band who hadn’t voted yet.
Beck was the one with the sash. He fingered the fabric, gazing at the strange markings scrawled in a language he didn’t know. “I want to hear what he has to say.”
“Banned fools,” Cropper muttered, chewing on the stem of a pipe. He blew a haze of clove smoke from his lips. The smell was stale – pungent yet sugary. Smoking cloves was also Forbidden to the Shae. Thealos wanted to chuckle with the irony. His life came down to two more votes and all he could think about were the Rules of Forbiddance.
The one called Hoth sniffed and shrugged. “Kill him or don’t. It doesn’t matter to me.”
“I’ve heard that the Wolfsmen…that they can hear Shaden blood singing,” Tomn said. He was the cook, the one Thealos had startled the most with his arrow. Of all the men in their gang, he was slow, but he was grateful Thealos’ arrow had missed, and he spoke strongly to save Thealos from Cropper. He had dull green eyes. His face was grimy, but earnest. “Is that true, Shaden?”
“My name is Thealos.”
“It’s a silly myth,” Cropper snapped. He gave Thealos an angry stare. “Just another one of their lies.”
Thealos gave Tomn a deep look. “It doesn’t sing,” he answered in a steady voice, hoping their ignorance would help. “But we do know when the earth drinks our blood. Even some humans say the Earth magic sings to them.”
“So…so you could tell if a Shaden were murdered?” Tomn pressed.
Thealos nodded. “Is that what happened to the Wolfsman you…found?”
“We didn’t kill him,” Tomn insisted. “He’d been dead a long while. Isn’t that right, Tannon? Just a skull, some bones…plus the clothes. Can’t sell a stitch of it, except maybe the sash and the dagger.” He gave Tannon a furtive look. “If we kill him, the Wolfsmen will come after us, won’t they?”
“If they were coming, Tomn, they would have by now,” Tannon replied with a smirk. He gave Thealos a cunning smile. “Well, it looks like the band will let you live today, boy. If Hoth changes his mind, well…you just keep praying to Shedang, Achrolese, and Vinderhopper that he doesn’t.” The group cackled at his mocking rendition of the Shae deities.
“Fools,” Cropper spat. He tapped the burning cloves out of his pipe and crushed them with the heel of his boot. He left the group, sulking. Thealos stared at the tiny wisps coming from the scorch marks where he had stood. It was another act of defilement, something deliberate to tarnish the land. It made the ball of rage in his heart grow.
Beck came over and dropped down next to him, showing him the mottled sash. His fingers were dirty and strong. “You said you could read this, Shaden.”
“Untie me first,” Thealos said.
“What?” Tannon chortled.
“What can I do, Tannon?” Thealos snapped, his temper flaring. “Escape? You’ve taken my bow and quiver. You have my knife and my provisions and all the Aralonian pieces I own. I am a good woodsman, but not without supplies. If I ran away, I’d be in worse shape than I’m in now.” He shrugged, his wrists cramped and numb from the tether. “To be honest, I doubt I could walk on my own right now without falling down. Please – untie me.”
Tannon nodded to Beck. The soldier grunted and slipped a dagger from the cuff of his boot. Thealos felt the ropes stretch and snap as the blade sliced through the bonds. Blood rushed into his hands, stinging his fingertips with pricks of life. He chafed his wrists, trying to keep from wincing at the bloody sores. Gingerly, he touched the back of his head where the mace had struck him and felt the matted blood. Beck untied the bonds around his ankles.
“How’s that, boy?” Beck asked.
Thealos nodded appreciatively. “Thank you. May I see it?” He gestured for the sash. Taking the cloth, he brushed his hand along the length, finding where the stitching held the drape together. He examined the workmanship closely. It had obviously been steeped in mud or earth, but the fabric was of the highest quality, a rugged blend of wool and linen that kept well even outdoors. It was treated to protect it from the elements. Flipping it over, he examined the edging again.
“What does it say?” Beck asked excitedly.
“I haven’t started reading it yet,” Thealos replied. “My father is in the cloth business. It’s definitely Silvan-made. See how the stitching is so tight and close?” He ran his forefinger over the tight weave. “No loose threads. Not one. A few good washings and you could sell this for a high price.” Beck’s eyes gleamed. “Now for the markings. Let me see.” He started to read it in his mind, struggling with the cryptic notes of the ancient Shae language. He learned the Wolfsman’s name and rank. “His name was Jade Shayler, and he bore the rank of a Lor. Impressive.”
“What does his name mean?” Tomn asked, edging closer. He looked fascinated. “Don’t Shaden names mean something?”
“You know a l
ittle about us, don’t you?” Thealos said approvingly to the simple man.
Tomn grinned, embarrassed. “A little. But not much. So what does it mean?”
“Literally, Jade Shayler means ‘green eyes.’ There are some nuances too, but I doubt any of you would understand them.” He gave Tannon a wry look. “The writing here and here describes his life, who trained him, what action he has seen.” He rolled the fabric down, showing them the Silvan script. “But as you can see on this half, the fabric is empty down to there. He was young, for a Shae. But I think I know how he died.”
“And how could you know that?” Tannon asked.
“You’re full of trope,” Hoth said.
Thealos shook his head. “I’m only guessing. But the last thing written here is an encounter with a Sinew dragon. One that apparently menaced the Shae side of the river. Jade Shayler went after it.” He looked from face to face. “I didn’t think your band could have killed a Crimson Wolfsman. But a Sinew dragon could.”
“A Sinew dragon,” Tannon said sternly, folding his arms.
“A Sinew dragon,” Beck agreed, his eyes lighting with mischief.
“You obviously know about them,” Thealos continued.
“You’d find nary a man in Dos-Aralon who would,” Hoth said with a grin. “But those in the army, especially the scouts…we know what’s out in the valley. Sinew dragons lurk in a clutch in the swamps and woods, things you don’t find anywhere near the city.”
“Then you know that Sinew dragons like shiny things,” Thealos said conspiratorially. “Greedy beasts, they kill to steal. Do you know why they’re called…?”
“Because they’re land dragons,” another soldier butted in. Thealos didn’t remember his name, though he recognized his voice from the night before. “They don’t fly.”
“They jump,” Hoth added.
“I’m impressed with your band, Tannon,” Thealos said with a charming grin. “You know a lot about this valley.”
“More than you probably do, boy,” the leader replied smugly. “What was your name again? Thallis?”
“Thealos,” he replied. “Thealos Quickfellow.”
He didn’t dare ask if they were part of the Bandit Rebellion. Not yet.
* * *
Thealos squirmed uncomfortably and tried to pull the blanket over his legs, but his fingers were numb from the ropes and it took him a minute. The campfire crackled nearby and Cropper’s shadow fell across him as he walked around it, near Thealos.
“Get out of my way,” Cropper growled.
Thealos tried to scoot over, but he wasn’t quick enough and Cropper kicked him hard in the chest. It hurt like fury, but he managed to bite back all but a grunt of pain. Thealos massaged his ribs, letting the air out of his chest slowly. He watched the ornery soldier stalk away from the night fire. Thealos swore under his breath, one of his favorite of Correl’s curses that he reserved for doing business with humans. His wrists were bound in front of him this night, offering a little more comfort than he’d had the last two nights. His ankles were hitched together and snagged to a tree. They trusted him with information, but not freedom. As confidently as they talked of their skill as a band and in fighting, there was an unspoken fear of the Shae in their eyes. That somehow, if he were left without bonds, he would manage to steal a knife and cut their throats as they slept. Thealos didn’t condone murder – it was certainly Forbidden. But he might have kicked Cropper in the ribs on the way out.
“He shouldn’t have done that to you,” Tomn said in a low voice across from the fire. He looked angry as he scrubbed the cauldron he used for cooking. Flakes of ash and hunks of soot were caked into the sides, making Thealos wince every time he ate the stew or broth that came out of it. The stew wasn’t burned, which would have been Forbidden, but the pot itself was disgusting.
“He must have hated pups as a child,” Thealos joked, earning a smile from the timid cook. “I’ve really tried not to yelp too often.” He gave Tomn a sad smile and rolled up against one of the thick maples in the grove. “You clean while the others sleep?” Tannon snored off to the left, his huge chest rising and falling with the ragged breathing.
Tomn shrugged, then scrubbed the inside of the small cauldron furiously. Dropping the blackened rag, he brushed his hands on his pants and went around the fire, closer to Thealos. “How do your eyes glow like that?” he asked, staring at Thealos’ face. For an instant, the cook looked as if he were tempted to put his finger in Thealos’ eye.
“It’s just the light from the fire. Have you ever seen a cat in the dark?”
“A mountain cat? Out here in the valley?” Tomn laughed. “Oh, there’s the little ones in the city. They’re expensive. Even in Dos-Aralon, and you can rarely find a good seller. So the firelight makes them glow like that? Do mine glow?”
Thealos nearly rolled his eyes. “Of course yours don’t, Tomn.”
“Why do yours then? Does it hurt?”
“No. What do the Druid-priests tell you?”
“It depends which Druids you ask,” Tomn replied, sitting comfortably. “The Council Druids say your eyes glow because you have knowledge and truth. But the Valley Druids, the ones down here, say you glow because you stare at the moon too long. I’ve been watching you the last few nights, Thealos, but I haven’t seen you stare at the moon more than once or twice. Just glances, really.”
Thealos laughed. “Do you know why they say we stare at the moon, Tomn?” The grubby cook shook his head no. “In our tradition, that’s where our people came from. There are other worlds out there, Tomn. Not just this one. We came from that world on a floating city,” he said, nodding towards the northern sky where the luminous blue crescent of Eroth could be seen through the gaps in the trees. Tomn smelled like cinders. “One day we’ll return home when the city comes back for us. But not for a while, I think.”
“You really believe that?” Tomn asked, his eyes betraying doubt.
Thealos nodded simply.
“The Valley Druids would say you’re mad then. They don’t believe in all those myths and things.”
“Why would they? They just forget that what they know about the world, they learned from us. We came to this world to teach your kind, Tomn.”
“Teach us what?” he laughed, amused.
“I’ll save that for another night,” Thealos replied. “If there’s going to be another night.”
Tomn’s forehead wrinkled. He started scrubbing on the pot again. “I won’t…I won’t let them kill you, Thealos.” He leaned forward, his face intense. “If you help us find that Sinew dragon treasure, I’ll talk Tannon into letting you go. We don’t want trouble with the Wolfsmen. We just need your help a little while.”
“I don’t think Tannon will listen to you,” Thealos said with a wary smile. “Cropper hates me. And Tannon listens to him.” He nodded towards the woods where the angry soldier stood watch.
“Tannon listens to me too,” Tomn replied, dejected.
“I hope so,” Thealos said, letting doubt syrup his voice.
Tomn flushed and leaned forward with a light whisper. “I could cut you loose and no one would know how or why. Don’t think I couldn’t. You could have stole a knife or something and waited until we were asleep. Right?”
Thealos felt a smile twitch at the corner of his mouth. “I’m glad I have you looking out for me, Tomn. But I want to help you find that treasure. It could be worth a lot if the Sinew dragon is dead.”
“I thought you said the dragon killed that Wolfsman?”
“I’m pretty sure he did,” Thealos answered enigmatically. “But not many things can get the best of a Crimson Wolfsman. And a Lor is about as dangerous as they come.”
Tomn nodded. “Yeah, I heard they’re as good as the Sleepwalkers.”
“The what?”
“That’s right, you don’t let Sleepwalkers into Avisahn, do you?” He must have seen the confusion in Thealos’ eyes. “You’ve never heard of one? They dress in black and can walk in and o
ut of a castle at midday without anyone even seeing their shadow on the ground. Trackers can’t find them. Kings hire them to find things that are stolen or to kill someone who is high up and protected.”
“Assassins?” Thealos probed.
“They do that too,” Tomn agreed. “Except I hear they use magic. That or they’re made out of magic. When they don’t want you to, you can’t see them.” He shook his head in wonder. “Not even a Knight of Owen Draw can take one down.”
“Is that so?” Thealos replied with a nod. “Tell me more, Tomn,” he probed, seeing the excitement in the cook’s eyes.
* * *
After midnight, Thealos lay quietly in the camp watching the dying embers of the fire wink out one by one. He had already worked out how he was going to escape.
VI
Dujahn shifted in his saddle, squinting against the night sky at the black tangles of the Shadows Wood. The air was warm and muggy, but cool breaths of wind teased his neck only to vanish beneath the hot dampness of the moors. He sat on a stolid bay mare out in the middle of the grasslands, silently, feeling sweat trickle down the sides of his face. He mopped it up on the back of his glove. “Where are you, Folkes?” he muttered, scanning the trees.
Twisting in the saddle, Dujahn turned around and stared up at Landmoor. It rose high on a lopsided hill, surrounded by misty ponds and protected on the west by a bend in the river. The moon bathed the marsh grass in blue and caused winks of light to dance on the pools. From high in the watchtowers, torches burned brightly, making the fortress shimmer with patches of yellow and orange. It was dark and he was too far away to see any of the sentries patrolling the outer walls, and he knew they couldn’t see him either. Even if they could – what was a lone horseman compared with an army poised within the forest? A mosquito buzzed near his ear, and he swatted it sharply. He wore a plain brown tunic over a shirt of embroidered leather, tight at the sleeves. His hair was also brown and his face had an ordinary shape. To some he looked lazy – to others he looked bored. It made him perfect as a spy.
