The bandit tossed the stoat--the dead stoat--to the ground and hissed a few words that Eli's spark missed.

The stoat smacked the dirt, then scrambled to its feet. It took a few wobbly steps and reoriented toward Eli as the bandits grabbed their bows. Blessdamn it. He couldn't protect Lara from a hail of arrows. They couldn't outpace mounted bandits, they couldn't hide, and he couldn't take them. Not seven of them, not in the open, not at this distance--too far for his sparks, just right for their bows.

Not without putting her at mortal risk.

Which left one option: draw them away. Run like a rabbit and hope they gave chase. Well, and pray they didn't gut him to decorate a signpost, and just filled him with arrows instead.

What a happy prayer.

Of course, running wouldn't work if that bloated stoat sniffed Lara out. Was it looking at him or her, or the both of them? Still, when you only saw one window out of a--well, a burning room--you took the leap. So he straightened and--

"Don't hurt us!" Lara yelled, panic in her voice. "Please, don't hurt us, please!"

She stumbled through the milkbirch saplings, clumsier than he thought possible. Playing a role, trying to drew close enough to actually do something. Which was a risk. What if they simply put an arrow in her?

But it was no riskier than his plan, so as she stumbled and sobbed he called, "We don't want trouble. We don't mean no harm!"

Ahead of him, Lara dropped to her knees on the side of the road, with her hands by her shoulders and her 'fly switch' near her mouth.

Two of the bandits aimed their bows at Lara, and couldn't miss. Not from that distance.

His sparks might shift an arrow a finger's width--but they might not. And a finger's width wouldn't help anyway, so he couldn't do anything, not yet, except shuffle forward looking terrified, which was too blessdamned easy.

Especially when that dead stoat reared back onto two legs as if to inspect Lara--then jumped onto her chest. She made another noise, and that one sounded like genuine panic.

Eli didn't blame her. That thing was wrong. It wasn't an angelbrood, but it was an abomination, and its muzzle was a handspan from her face.

"Doesn't look like much, does he?" The bandit leader Bo laughed. "My borrowed pet. But he's strong as a rat terrier and already dead." His spat in Eli's direction. "Do as you're told, or he'll dig through your woman's neck looking for spine."

"I--I'll do whatever you want," Eli stammered. "Please, don't hurt her. Please."

"Two more lost sheep." The white-lipped one scratched his armpit. "You reckon this is enough for tonight, boss?"

"There's nobody else out here, these've gotta be the ones the kestrel spotted." Bo turned his head. "Rookie! Hitch that donkey. Frog, put the girl in front of you."

"Aw, c'mon, boss, I'll give her a seat," the white-lipped one said. "Let a fellow have a little fun."

"Maybe after you learn to focus on one thing at once, I'll let you trying focusing on--Rookie! Get moving!"

"Wh--what is that thing?" the rookie asked, still gaping at the stoat with horror.

"The least of the mistress's pets. Got a nose for strangers, and for magic, too. Long as you stay loyal, there's nothing to worry yourself about. And I suppose ..." Bo stroked his pointy beard. "I suppose if you don't stay loyal, there's also nothing to worry about. Ask me why."

The rookie cleared his throat. "Why?"

"Cause after we open your belly, you'll serve her even better. Nobody's more loyal than her risen dead. So personally, I recommend doing what you're told. Now help me remember, what did I tell you?"

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Uh ..."

"Get that donkey!"

"Yes, boss," the rookie said, and headed through the saplings to hitch Fern to his mount.

The earless woman, Frog, pulled a crying Lara--with the stoat's claws digging into her vest while its dead eyes twitched glances at Eli--onto her saddle.

Eli sent a spark closer but he wasn't strong enough to knock that monstrosity off her. And even if he was, what next? Spook the horse? And if he got lucky and the mount threw Frog, he could drive the other spark into the nearest bandit's face, grab a sword, and try to fight his way free?

Bad odds.

He probably wouldn't die, but he also probably wouldn't win. Which would put Lara in danger for no good reason. And if that stoat could track his scent or his magic, what then? Plus, what kind of twisted angeldamned kestrel was watching them?

Anyway, he couldn't knock the stoat away. He wasn't strong enough. He needed to get stronger. He needed that like he needed breathing, because right now, those sharp, horrible teeth could end Lara and he couldn't stop it.

In a deep, wordless chamber of his heart, Eli sealed a pact: he would get stronger. His life had taken a sharp turn into a dangerous land. This new path demanded power, and he would not fail to seize it.

Because now, right now, he couldn't do anything.

After all the practice, he'd found himself helpless--again. His jaw clenched and his pulse pounded like war drums in his skull. Hot rage surged in his chest but ice touched his core. Helplessness was being chained in a dungeon. Helpless was begging to confess sins you didn't commit.

He felt his troll blood singing. He didn't care. He didn't care about pain or danger or death or--or halo, maybe that wasn't his troll blood.

Ha. He felt laughter bubbling up from his stomach.

Maybe it was his human blood. Maybe it was the most human thing about him, that he wanted to hear these bandits scream in terror, he wanted to watch hope die in their eyes. He wanted to--

Beside him, Fern brayed happily, and rubbed her head against the rookie delighted at her new friend.

Little twitch-eared traitor.

The thought stopped Eli. The sight stopped him, and cooled his rage from an eruption to a simmer. He focused on his core, on his inner spark. Right. Stay calm. Just for a while longer. Just until he couldn't possibly stay calm any longer ...

The bandits tied his wrists in front of him, then attached the rope to one of the warhorses. When they trotted off, he was forced to lope behind, his boots thudding the uneven ground.

He stumbled a few times in the first few minutes. He shoved the sparks into the hardpacked road and caught himself, just barely, like pressing his fingertip against a tavern wall when he'd had too much to drink. Focusing on staying on his feet and staying calm.

Bo spurred his horse alongside the earless woman. "Big show tonight."

"Catapult's ready," the woman said, then added few words that Eli missed.

So he send one spark to eavesdrop while the other helped him remain upright. The eavesdropping spark shot through the scent of well-brushed horses and unwashed humans, feeling a wash of cold air as clouds covered the setting sun.

"... until we hear from her, which should've happened yesterday." Bo muttered to the woman. Then he opened the sack on his saddle and said, "Get in."

The dead stoat leaped from Lara's chest in a tumble of rotting limbs. One of the horses whinnied in alarm, then the creature landed on the side of the sack and climbed in.

"Bloody wings," the rookie gasped. "It understands you?"

"When our mistress raises a body, she touches them, aye? She leaves a single drop of herself in them. That's what controls them. That's what understands."

"Oh, she ... oh." The rookie started to make the sign of the Dreamers before he caught himself. "She really raises them from the dead? The actual dead?"

"What else in the six heavens would explain a corpse ferret sniffing out her enemies?" another brigand said.

"B-but, but ..." the rookie sputtered. "How?"

"She's the godsdamned Bloodwitch, that's how," Bo said, with a sideways smile. "And she doesn't raise the dead."

"She doesn't?"

"Nah, she just charms the thick, cold blood pooling inside them."

The rookie twitched. "Oh."

"Which amounts, in the end, to the same thing. Doesn't work with small animals too well. She's only got one sniffer like the ferret, one watcher like the kestrel. And they don't usually stay this long out of her company. I don't know why she ..." He paused, then didn't finish that thought aloud. "Bigger pets, though? She's got a whole menagerie."

"What's 'menagerie' mean?" the other brigand asked.

"A collection. Deer, monkeys. There's bears that ..." Bo shook his head. "There's two bears."

"That what?"

"Best not to think about the bears," the white-lipped one said. "Much less the people."

"Thinking doesn't pay," Bo said. "All we gotta do is obey. She wants West Town? We'll give her West Town."

"She wants to clear out everyone who ain't hers," another brigand said.

"West Town falls first," Bo said. "She's got a grudge against them, for harboring those mercs."

The white-lipped one grunted. "They ain't fallen yet."

"They're weakening. Fear is a terrible thing. And the mistress hasn't even started yet."

"Hoy!" A tattooed Southlander pointed her bow at Eli. "Look what else hasn't fallen yet."

Eli didn't react, because he would've been too far to overhear them without his sparks. He just stumbled onward as the rope around his wrist jerked at him.

The sparks tracked the bandits watching him, muttering about him. Increasingly surprised over the next twenty minutes that he hadn't fallen yet. Increasingly tempted to put an arrow in him just to watch him drop.

So the next time he stumbled, he didn't catch himself.