Grevail awoke from a tap of Iphik’s boot against his shoulder. The Sifter stood silent until satisfied Grevail was awake, then slung the burlap bag over a shoulder and left the room. Grevail pushed himself into a sitting position, wincing at still-aching muscles from yesterday’s journey.

The vision he experienced last night slammed into his mind and a rancid tightness crept into his gut from the memory. The itching in his skull was strong as ever, but if nothing else, he was spared much of the smell now Iphik left the room. The slithering tingle crawling across the inside of his head said the cube was moving along the hallway to the common room. He followed it with his eyes. Vidian.

Tessyn’s face was a thunderhead, and she sat glaring at Grix like her eyes could shoot lightning. “Let’s go,” Grix said and motioned for her to stand. “It’s already late.” Pale morning light streamed through the window behind the tall Sifter.

Grevail and his friends stood while Grix went to the door. The Sifter held it open and chaperoned them into the hallway with his usual hard eyed stare.

“Can we eat before we leave?” Raela asked.

Grix did not reply, and instead shepherded them toward the common room, chains clinking as they went. A patron of the inn paused in the hallway ahead to watch them plod along, but as they came near, the woman hurried into a room and shut the door.

“To the stables,” Grix ordered.

Grevail’s stomach rumbled when they clattered down the stairs and entered the common room. Wonderful smells wafted from a busy kitchen, masking the scent of spoiled wine the relic left in its wake. He would have become a Thavak for just a bite of whatever created that aroma, but Grix kept them moving.

When Grevail shouldered through the double doors and descended into the road, the few villagers nearby turned with curious frowns to watch Grix march his prisoners to the stable gate. Just down the street, a knot of men milled about beside their mounts, watching as Grevail and his friends came closer. With a start, Grevail realized he recognized the bald man from Joszi’s table among them. Piercing blue eyes followed Grevail and his friends—the strange bronze sallet helmet still hanging from his waist.

“Come on, move,” Grix said as they entered the wall surrounding the stable. “Straight ahead.”

Grevail spared a glance at his friend's dejected faces, then released a heavy breath and did as Grix commanded.

Iphik stood beside the wagon inside the open doors of the stable, talking with another man. “You will not allow me to hitch these horses?” Iphik asked the man, jabbing at the mounts with his burlap sack. The horses stood tossing their manes on either side of the tongue, as if the man had interrupted Iphik hitching them.

“Sorry, sir,” the man said and knuckled his forehead, “but I was told…”

“I know what you were told!” Iphik shouted and threw his bag into the wagon seat.

Grevail and his friends shuffled inside, herded by Grix, and Iphik whirled to regard them.

“What’s the matter?” Grix asked.

Iphik looked on the verge of an outburst, but the man he argued with broke in. “I’m sorry sir, I am, but the innkeep said this wagon wasn’t to leave until you settled your bill,” he said, sweeping gray-streaked brown hair from a filthy face. The man’s wary blue eyes bounced between the Sifters, as if wondering who would attack him first, and he brushed anxiously at the straw and dark stains on his trousers.

“We’ve paid for everything,” Grix said.

“It is no use, Grix,” Iphik growled. “I have already told him. I will see the innkeep!” Iphik turned to the man and shook a finger under his nose. “Beseech Volera that you are still employed by the time I return!” He moved to grab his bag.

The stableman raised his hands. “No need to unpack your things sir, no. Just a quick word with the innkeep and you’ll be on your way, I swear, I do.”

Iphik drew a dark look on the man. “For your own sake, I hope you are right! Grix, load them into the wagon.” He spun and marched through the stable doors.

The stableman watched Iphik go with tight, concerned eyes. He spread his hands at Grix. “Sorry to cause problems, sir, I am. It should only be a moment, yes.”

Grix furrowed his brow and grumbled under his breath in response, then gave Adellus a shove. “Into the wagon.”

Grevail lumbered toward the wagon ahead of his friends and helped them climb in before doing so himself. Grix hooked the clasps on the bed to the chains on their feet. When finished, he hopped out and went to wait between the open doors for Iphik with the stableman.

“I’ve got a pick,” Tessyn whispered with an eye on Grix’ back. She produced a thin strip of metal from her trousers, two fingers wide. “I can get these off us if I shave it down enough to get it in the hole. I think it will be strong enough to move the spring.” She chuckled and returned the pick to her pocket. “Got it off that desk. Iron eye Sifter didn’t see that.”

Grevail nodded, but did not voice his doubts. Even unfettered, they were no match for Iphik and Grix.

A haggard breath left Raela, as if she too considered the situation desperate. She took them all in, then straightened and gained a determined look in her emerald eyes. “We can do it, if we stick together.”

Adellus swept curly brown hair behind his ears. “We’ve got to do something. Wherever they are taking us it can’t be far off.”

A loud groan punctuated Adellus’ words. It was followed by a thud, like a sack of grain hitting the floor. Grevail half stood and looked over the wagon seat at the stable doors, where the sound came from. The stableman stood over Grix’ motionless body with a cudgel in his hand. The man tossed the club and set about hitching the horses.

The stableman noticed Grevail peeking at him over the wagon seat. “You will find it in your best interest to follow my directions, young man. Keep your mouth shut, yes?” He finished with the horses and bent to dig in a lump of straw near the stable wall. He withdrew a sheathed sword, still on the belt, and jumped into the wagon seat to rifle through Iphik’s bag. “Ahhh, there you are,” he breathed, then closed the bag and stuffed it tight onto the seat beside him. “Sit down,” he snapped over his shoulder and swept up the reins.

Grevail fell to his rump as the wagon bolted from the stall and into the yard. Grix pushed himself upright, putting a hand to his head as they raced by. The wagon careened onto the road in a clatter of hooves and squeaking wheels. The bald man from Joszi’s table watched them pass wide eyed, wrestling with his startled mount.

They rumbled past the inn door just as Iphik stepped through it. He froze, mouth dropping open in shock. “Stop!” he shouted when he recovered and ran into the street after them, waving his arms. The blue eyed man and the horsemen with him jumped into saddles, spurring mounts into pursuit.

The stableman whipped the reins harder, even as his hair trailed behind him from the speed. People crowded the street ahead, and though some saw the wagon barreling down, many were unaware.

“Make way! Make way!” the stableman bellowed. Townspeople parted with surprised shouts and angry denouncements as the wagon thundered past. A woman carrying a basket brimming with freshly baked bread narrowly jumped from the wagon’s path and landed hard on her stomach, scattering white rolls across the street.

The horsemen followed, propelled by Iphik’s fading cries. The Little Leaf came into view, but just before they reached it, the stableman jerked the reins and the wagon skidded onto a street paralleling the highway.

The stableman urged the horses on, shouting at the top of his lungs. Raela clung to the sideboard with eyes squeezed shut, red hair streaming across her face. Adellus rattled off a string of curses one after another while Tessyn was bent over the clasps around her feet, grinding at the pick. The wagon roared onward, blurring the buildings at the roadside until they disappeared altogether, replaced by fields on the outskirts of town. The riders dug heels into mounts and started gaining.

The stableman looked over his shoulder, frowning at the horsemen.

A rider bent low over the neck of his horse pushed through the dust trailing the wagon to match their speed. He was only paces away and the sound of his mount’s labored breath was loud in Grevail’s ears.

“You’re caught! Give up!” shrilled the young man over the noise of the wagon.

“On what grounds?” the stableman shouted back.

The young man kicked his horse and moved closer to the stableman. Another rider caught up on the opposite side. The grizzled older man eyed the chains around Grevail’s limbs, then returned a determined gaze to Arxaro.

“Stop!” the young man screeched as he pulled beside the wagon’s horses, reaching for the harness.

The stableman half stood and twisted his body. A knife bloomed in the young man’s back, right between the shoulder blades, and he fell forward onto the neck of his mount with a shriek, then rolled off—tumbling into the wheels of the wagon.

The wheel beneath Grevail rolled over the man, and then he was weightless, gliding through the air. An incredible pain exploded in his ankles and he swung downward, slamming into the back of the wagon. Bewildered, he realized he was upside down, hanging by his legs. The clasps around his feet dug into flesh and the road sped by just a pace from his head.

The hooves of the remaining pursuer’s mount thudded beside the wagon, but a guttural scream ripped into the air and the horseman fell from the saddle, hitting the road in a cloud of dirt.

“Ash at dawn!” the stableman cursed.

The blue eyed man and another rider still galloped after. Grevail looked up his body at the taut chain between his feet.

Tessyn’s face appeared over the side. Her horrified eyes locked on his. “Hold on, Grevail!” She grabbed at his feet in an attempt to hoist him up.

Every jolt produced searing pain and his legs felt like they were about to be torn in two. The stableman’s shouts reached his ears over the roar of the axle and deafening creak of the wheels. Just as he thought his ankles would be severed, the chain snapped in a ring of metal. Grevail crashed into the dirt and rolled, hitting his head hard.

“Grevail!” Raela’s scream ripped through the whining in his ears.

He tried to open his eyes, but could not. He tried to stand, but couldn’t do that either. He felt himself slipping into deeper darkness, the world fading away from him. The sound of thudding hooves seemed like they were a world away, but he knew they were close.

“Check on the others,” a voice said. “Hide the bodies if needed until we can get them out of here. We don’t need the locals poking their noses into this. I’ll send help when I take this one to camp.” Boots crunched on the road. “There is someone who would like to talk with you.”

Grevail slipped into black.

***********************************************************************************

Grevail came awake with a groan. He went to put a hand to the pain on the back of his head and realized he couldn’t move. A rope was wound around his chest, tying him to a chair. He was inside a red and gold striped tent. There was a table just beyond his feet…and not much else. He winced, gritting his teeth at the pounding in his skull.

“The Arbiter will be here shortly. Do not try to fight your constraints, scamp. It won’t help you,” a voice behind him said.

Arbiter? He craned his neck but could not see the speaker. The scratching in his mind had faded, though he still sensed the relic further south. How far had it moved away?

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

After some time, a noise at the entrance brought his head up. Joszi entered, swathed in maroon and gold robes. He was accompanied by a woman clutching a leather binder to her chest that sprouted sheafs of paper from either end. She analyzed him with dark eyes, ignoring the strand of black hair falling out of place into her vision. Joszi and the woman sat themselves at the table, each regarding Grevail with a stony expression.

The Thavan removed his hat and set it aside. He studied Grevail with deep chestnut eyes and stroked the thick mustache over his lips. “Grevail, I know you are wanted in Eudan. I know you possessed an Emberfolk relic. Be truthful with me and you will be treated justly. Lie…well, you won’t lie to me, will you?”

Grevail couldn’t get the words out fast enough. “The cube, you want it, right? It’s in the wagon! He is getting away with it!”

Joszi’s eyes went over his head, to whoever spoke when Grevail first came to. “Lyphon, what happened to the Sifters?”

“I did not have time to check,” the man said, his voice barren of sarcasm. “I gave chase immediately.”

Joszi returned his gaze to Grevail. “Who stole the wagon?”

“The stablehand,” Grevail said between groans as another wave of pain swept over his skull. “I don’t know who he was. You want the—”

“What did he look like? Did he say anything to you?” Joszi’s frown deepened.

Grevail shook his head. You could look at him yourself if you cared to go after him! “He had brown hair to his shoulders and blue eyes. Older fellow, maybe forty or fifty. If you want that cube…you have to listen to me. The relic right? That’s what you want? They are—”

“Silence,” Joszi said. “You will speak when spoken to.” The Thavan grumbled under his breath and worked his mouth as if he’d just been presented with an unforeseen problem. “Did the Sifters know about the relic? Did you hide it from them?”

Grevail jerked his head south, where he felt the scratching leading him. “No, I didn’t hide it. They had it…they wanted it.”

“I knew they were lying,” Joszi said and thumped the table with a fist. “Do you know who hired them?”

Grevail remembered the name he heard the Sifter’s say. Erphele. Did he even want an Arbiter to find his friends? In the few moments he had to think about it, he supposed he did. It was the only chance they might have. “I think…it was someone named Erphele.”

Joszi furrowed his brow. “Erphele…” He turned to the woman, then Lyphon, likely wondering if they’d heard the name before. “Do you know where they were taking you?”

“No…” Grevail began but stopped. The cube moved south, and the scratching pulled him toward it. Joszi was the last person in all of Voxetta he wanted to tell about the strange things he felt around an Emberfolk relic, but it might be the only chance he’d have to find his friends again.

Joszi interrupted his thoughts. “Very well. It is unfortunate you will not provide the information I need. Two brave Keepers died at the burial this relic was stolen from. Slain in their sleep…likely by common Cythraul or Dawnbreaker tomb robbers. Did you have anything to do with that? I will find out. A stay in a work camp might refresh your memory. If that isn’t enough, perhaps the Postulator’s efforts may help you remember.” Joszi spoke to Lyphon with a gesture at Grevail. “Take him away. I will send him to Inderim. Some time toiling in the swamps will show any Cythraul the path back to the Paragons.”

“If the Paragons will it, Arbiter.” Lyphon’s footsteps drew close from behind.

“I can sense it, the relic, I can follow it,” Grevail blurted out. Vidian’s face stuck in his mind for a moment before he dispelled it with a shake of his head. Lyphon paused at his chair back.

Joszi received his admission with an incredulous chuckle that devolved into a sneer. “You can’t expect me to believe that.”

The woman spoke. “We know some people react strangely to them.” Studious brown eyes searched Grevail as if he were a puzzle to be solved.

Joszi scoffed and turned to her. “You have heard that there are those who can sense these relics, Amma?”

“No, but this artifact in particular has attributes we do not understand.”

Joszi frowned. “Like what? Isn’t this something I should know?”

“You did not ask,” Amma said with a twist of her lips. “An Asceraff died after handling one. We suspect his death was caused by the artifacts—we call them Emberstones, but we don’t know how. There were reports of a farmer who found one and experienced hallucinations, then shortly afterward murdered his entire family. Another, a woman who knew everything about the process of distilling alcohol, though she claimed she had never done it before. Much of her memory from before she touched it had been erased.”

“Spirits of the Paragons,” Joszi whispered. “Why we let you study these things, I’ll never know.”

Amma’s mouth tightened at Joszi’s words, as if she were holding her tongue, but she turned her black eyes on Grevail. “Tell me, Grevail, what did it look like?”

“It was the size of my fist, with gold on the edges and little glass circles on each side. There was blue light too, from the glass parts.”

She nodded as if she knew that was what he would say. “Did you have any other…reactions to it?”

Grevail stared at her open-mouthed. He told them he could sense it, that was enough for them to never let him out of their sight again, but if he told them about the visions they might throw him on the pyre before he finished talking. “No, I can just tell where it is.”

A skeptical look swept over Amma’s face.

“Where is it then?” Joszi asked.

“South. It’s going south…fast.”

Joszi pursed his lips and a brief silence ensued before he spoke. “As I see it, only a Dawnbreaker would be in possession of such a thing. Even most Cythraul possess a healthy fear of Emberfolk things. Are you a Dawnbreaker?” Joszi’s eyes bored into him as if they could squeeze out a confession.

“I’m no Breaker,” Grevail said. He forced his face to stillness and kept his breath measured. It wasn’t the first time he’d been accused, but it was the first time an Arbiter was the one asking.

“Then why did you have it?” Joszi asked.

“To sell it.”

Joszi’s hands clenched into fists and his lip quivered, as if struggling to control himself. “Sell it to a Dawnbreaker?” He jabbed a finger at the green opal in Grevail’s ear. “I know what that is…and I know there are many Dawnbreakers in Lowtown, disgusting as it is. To think Talaen would let such people fester in the bowels of his city.”

“I didn’t know who might buy it, but I know people will pay for that kind of thing. I’m no Breaker, I swear.” After a brief pause he added, “on Bostra and Ilen, I swear.”

Joszi wasn’t convinced. “I’ll defer to the Paragons for any truth in that—and you will hope I do not find different. The Emberfolk brought about The Long Dark and the Dawnbreakers may well bring another with this reckless pursuit of Emberfolk artifacts. Nobody knows this better than I. It is for that reason I have dedicated my life to safeguarding us all from the filth of the past that brought The Long Dark upon us.”

Grevail averted his eyes from Joszi’s unwavering, determined gaze. “I swear…I’m not a Dawnbreaker. I only wanted to sell it. I’d sell anything if it meant I could eat.”

“Anything,” Joszi said with a grimace, studying him over steepled hands. “Very well, Grevail. I plan to go south anyway, after whoever stole the Sifter’s wagon—granted my men do not find anything else. I will allow you to play your game. But if I find that you have lied to me, you will regret it…dearly.”

Grevail nodded. “They are getting away…”

“I make the decisions,” Joszi said. “I’ll let you suggest where we go, but I decide when, how, and if.”

Grevail bowed his head, directing his gaze to the tabletop.

Joszi picked up his hat and stood. “I must see to matters.” He turned to Amma, who sat staring at Grevail, the binder under her hands forgotten. “Amma will have more questions for you, be truthful with her as I know you would be for me.” Joszi moved past Grevail toward the exit, but paused and spoke to Lyphon. “If a Purifier cannot catch a stable boy, perhaps the Archenari is right.” The Thavan settled the hat on his head before exiting the tent.

A Purifier! Grevail would have clapped a hand to his head if he wasn’t tied up. Ashes, first Sifters and now a Purifier. Who would come after this cube next? Amphid himself?

Amma watched Joszi leave, then put her elbows on the table and rested her jaw on a fist, weighing him before she spoke. “Where did you find the Emberstone?”

“I traded a man ten ess for it in Lowtown. I guess he didn’t know what he had,” Grevail said, trying to keep a straight face, just like he did for the watch.

“You traded for it…of course,” Amma murmured. “So…you had nothing to do with the tomb robbers? You know nothing of the bodies found there? Even one with a merit in his ear, just like yours.” She waited for an answer, but when Grevail remained silent, she continued. “Did you know what he had—the man you traded with?”

“I had no idea.”

“Ten ess and you didn’t even know what it was? That’s a lot of money…especially in Lowtown. Do you always buy things when you don’t know what they are?”

“I knew it was old, and old things are always worth something.”

Amma smirked as if she found some kind of humor in what he’d said, then changed her line of questioning. “You say that you can feel the cube. What is it like?”

Grevail felt an emptiness in the pit of his stomach, as if his worries had distilled to acid and coalesced in his gut. There would be no going back after what he said, and this would only be digging himself deeper, but the threat to his friends compelled him to speak. If he could convince this woman to follow where he led, he might see them again. “It’s an itch in my head…pointing in a direction and telling me a distance.” He inclined his head south, where he felt the scratching, like an insect burrowing out of his skull. “I can show you right where it is.”

Amma arched a curious eyebrow. She produced a quill and ink from the pouch at her waist, and after untying the straps on her binder, scribbled a few lines on the parchment before her. “A distance? A specific number?”

He shook his head. “No, it’s a feeling. It’s hard to describe. I can feel it moving south.”

“When did you notice these effects?”

“A few days ago.”

“And that’s it? You feel…itching?”

Grevail sighed, dreading the words he was about to speak. He realized this was the first time he’d told anyone, and a Thavan of all people. “That’s not all. When I’m near it, I get goosebumps on my skin…and I smell…spoiled wine.”

Amma frowned and looked up from her binder. “Wine?”

“Yes.”

With a furrowed brow, the woman bent over the parchment, recording what he said. “And the goosebumps, they go away when you are not near it? Do you know how far from the Emberstone you must be until you feel them?”

“It’s hard to say, but if I had to guess…ten or twenty paces?”

“You can’t smell wine now?”

“No, only when I’m near it, or when I’m somewhere it has been.”

“A trail? How can you tell?”

“It smells different, like an old thing next to a fresh one…if that makes any sense.”

Amma paused in her writing and her eyes took on an inward look, as if she’d become lost in thought. She murmured under her breath, frowned at Grevail, then set the quill between the pages.

“Why are you not going after the relic if you want it so much?” he asked, aware of the growing faintness in his skull.

“It takes time to move a camp,” Amma said, as if it were obvious. She continued, voice firm with determination. “We will not let it escape us.”

Damn that relic. Grevail recalled the day they fled Eudan after Gaston’s death when Raela begged him to leave it behind. If only he listened to her, this could all have been avoided. “And my friends? Will you throw them in prison with me?”

“What Joszi does with your friends is none of my business.”

Grevail struggled to control the surge of anger that came over him at the uncaring look on her face. “I should have known better than to expect fair treatment from a Thavan.”

Disdain flashed across Amma’s face and her dark eyes narrowed. “I’m a Conveyor, not a Thavan, and I do not need lessons on morality from a thief.”

Grevail’s face slackened in surprise. He’d only seen Conveyors at the museum near the palace in Eudan, but they seemed harmless enough, though they worked with the Thava to excavate Emberfolk ruins. They were the only people the Thava allowed to touch relics or artifacts of the Emberfolk, to keep them away from Breakers. His gaze dropped to the binder beneath Amma’s hands. It was said Conveyors would brave even Stricken in their quest for knowledge. They knew more than anyone else about anything. “Have you seen these cubes yourself?”

“I’ve seen them before.”

“Do you know what they are?”

She stared at him, as if wondering why she was answering his questions. “No, no one does,” she said and a look of seriousness settled upon her. “That is why it is so important you truthfully tell me everything you know. These objects can be quite dangerous, as I told you earlier.” She paused, her eyes intent on his. “They may well be capable of things we could only dream of.”

Grevail fought the urge to swallow the lump in his throat. “I’ve been truthful with you,” he stammered. Dangerous or not, I’m not telling her about Vidian.

Joszi swept through the tent flaps. “We are leaving just as soon as we are ready,” he said to Amma, then turned to look down at Grevail, mustache twitching over compressed lips. “I will entertain your supposed connection with this relic for the time being. Consider it a gesture of the Paragons, Varien’s own beautiful compassion. I could throw you in prison today for the rest of your life, but I won’t if you help me find it. If you attempt escape, I will make sure that every watchman at every gate, every Thavak in every village, and every Sifter in every tavern knows your name. Ten thousand ess if need be to bring a Cythraul to justice. Not to mention, your friends will suffer a much worse fate when I find them.”

The Arbiter took a deep breath and bent to grip the table edge till the wood groaned under his hands. “However,” he continued, “help me find this relic and perhaps I pardon you and your friends.” He shrugged and added, “maybe a thousand ess reward instead of a prison stay.”

“My friends had nothing to do with the cube, they didn’t even know about it…but I won’t try to escape,” Grevail said. There was little doubt in his mind that Joszi or Amma would never release him after what he said.

“Very good,” Joszi said and turned to Amma. “I would like to speak with you, Amma, before we depart.” Amma rose and gathered her binder and together with Lyphon and Joszi, left the tent.

He sat alone, still tied to the chair, with the fading buzz in his head growing more faint by the moment. Would it disappear altogether if the cube went far enough way? On one hand, he wished it would, especially after what Amma told him, but on the other, it was the only way he could find his friends.

Some time later, two Thavan Keepers came and untied him from the chair. They took the chains from his hands and feet, then led him outside. Any ideas of escape vanished when he saw how many Thavans were here.

The camp was nearly all packed up, with red and gold striped tents being thrown into wagons. A knot of Thavan Keepers in red and gold tunics sat on horseback, waiting for the command to leave in shining kettle helms while many more on foot milled about.

“You will ride in that,” Joszi said from atop a red mare, nodding toward a wagon with a cage rising from the bed, not much taller than Grevail was. A jail cell on wheels.

The Thavan soldiers hauled him by the arms toward the wagon and pushed him into the cage, securing the door with a thick, rusted padlock.

The driver turned in the wagon seat to look at him. “Welcome, like the dawn. Joszi told me why you are here!” she said. She looked much too old to be driving a wagon, with stark white hair to her shoulders. She smiled, displaying brown crooked teeth behind thin lips and searched Grevail with a friendly gaze. While one of those eyes was a warm brown, the other was nearly white—like an overcooked egg yolk. “It is never too late to forswear. I’m Thyma.”

Forswear. Grevail grimaced at the word. He didn’t know much about the Thava, but he did know what that word meant, so did anyone else in Lowtown. That meant they would lock you up until you agreed with whatever they said. Only then would a Cythraul be considered clean and allowed to leave, and they might just throw you on the pyre anyway. To the Thava, it meant one less Stricken in the world.

She gave him a wink of her white eye and whipped the reins. They followed a long line wagons and Thava through the trees toward the highway. “Jahisco will guide us on our journey!” Thyma said as the wagon trundled into motion.

I’m coming, Grevail thought, concentrating on the faint scratching against his skull.