“Here!” Amon said.

“Shush!”

In his excitement he’d forgotten they were supposed to be quiet as two little field mice, but after what seemed hours of searching he’d actually found what he’d been searching for. It was hard not to celebrate the small victories after so many major defeats.

Roda appeared from behind a tree. The torch in his hand cast his features in dramatic shadows. He looked relieved, though. Neither one of them wanted to spend any more time stumbling about in the dark.

Amon pulled out his small paring knife and began cutting bits of the eldermoss from the trunk of a tree.

“How do you know this isn’t just regular moss, again?”

“Eldermoss is a mushroom, not moss. It only looks like it.” Amon held out a piece of the cut mushroom. “See? It smells like mushrooms, too.”

Roda took it in his hand, rubbed a callused thumb over it. “You tell the difference just by looking at it?”

“Yes.” It probably had something to do with the countless hours he’d spent inspecting various flora and fauna around Beckhead. Whenever he had the time and energy, he wandered around woods, studying whatever he came across. It became almost instinctual after a while.

“Will this be enough?” Roda asked.

“For a few days at most. We need to keep looking. There has to be more out there.” He wasn’t totally confident in that anymore, but he was trying to stay hopeful. He’d found a fair amount of bluetails as well, but they more of both. Still, a few days’ worth was far better than nothing. It could be enough to save his life.

Amon began cutting the rest of the eldermoss, placing finger-sized pieces in the bag he’d taken with them, but Roda put a hand on his shoulder.

Amon looked up.

The old warrior’s head was cocked, one hand resting to the Cassadan-made ax at his belt. He motioned for Amon to listen to closely, and Amon did.

Horse hooves and men’s voices on the road. Faint but undeniable.

Roda quickly pulled out a large wet cloth. He covered both their torches, extinguishing them and plunging both of them into darkness.

The summer nights were often short and bright in Illia, but little star or moonlight made it through the dense canopy. The sounds of the forest sounded far louder now. It wasn’t unheard of for creaches or giants to come stumbling into these woods from mountains.

“We can cut them off,” Roda said. “The road takes a wide bend up ahead but there’s a shortcut through these trees. Follow me.”

“Who is that?” Amon asked. It sounded like a party of men, but impossible to say how many.

“Probably no one, but I want to find out for sure. Stay close and stay quiet.” Roda didn’t wait for a reply, but started moving as silent as a shadow.

He was little more than a dark blob ahead of Amon, but he heard the whisper of the ax leaving his belt.

Amon’s thudding heartbeat added another noise to the cacophony of the forest. He felt suddenly hot, the summer air thick and cloying. He couldn’t hear the horses and voices any more. He suddenly wondered if they’d dismounted and to stalk him through the woods. Maybe they’d seen the torchlight through the trees.

Could Aile’s servants have reached Beckhead so quickly? Wasn’t it more likely that they were traders, or yeoman summoned by the Chieftain?

Maybe, but whoever they were, Amon would have felt far safer hiding in the woods. He could let himself fall back, lose Roda in the night, find some place to lie and breathe as quietly as possible.

Suddenly Roda was right in front of him, close enough to feel his breath. “Stay close.”

Something about the way he spoke stood up the hairs on the nape of Amon’s neck. He wouldn’t have wanted to be on the wrong end of the man’s ax, past his prime or not. He might be better off with him anyway, if the enemy really was hunting him.

“Yes,” Amon said.

“And quiet.”

Amon nodded.

Roda moved without making a single sound. Amon thought he’d learned his woodcraft well after so much time in the forest, but he like a giant crashing through the brush by comparison. Still, he also moved quickly and Amon struggled to catch up.

Roda came to a stop. They both came to a crouch behind a fallen tree. The forest thinned ahead, enough to catch a patch of star-swirled sky. The road to Beckhead lay just ten or so paces ahead.

“Did we miss them?” Amon asked.

Roda put a finger to his lips.

Amon couldn’t see his gaze, but he could feel the icy blue stare boring into him.

They both remained still and quiet. Amon listened but found only the buzzing and chirping of the woods.

Then came the sound of horses and men.

They both instinctually pressed themselves closer to the fallen tree, only the top halves of their heads peeking over.

Two armed men and a woman came first. All three of them had their long hair tied back in a warrior’s braid. Amon spotted the shapes of spears and swords on them.

Three more came after that, also dressed like loachs or reavers headed for battle.

That wasn’t necessarily unusual. Odrin would have sent the summons for all his warriors yesterday and it would take time for them to muster. The men and women on the road could easily have been simply answering the call of their Chieftain.

The hour had drawn late for that, though. Any ordinary traveler would have stopped hours ago for the night. It was possible this group had decided to push on to reach Beckhead Town, but it didn’t sit right. Also, these men and women weren’t only armed, but they had their weapons close at hand, as if they were ready for a battle at any moment.

Another group of three came, but this time Amon recognized two of them.

Slaine rode in the center, identifiable by his silver torc around his neck. It caught just a hint of starlight. If that didn’t give him away, his ridiculous flowing locks of hair did.

To his left rode Slaine’s wife, Maona. A pale-colored hood masked most of her features, but Amon knew it was her. She was short enough to be Maona, for one, but she turned her head in their direction, showing her round baby cheeks.

After they passed, another cluster of three warriors came, and soon they’d all disappeared again into darkness.

Amon wanted to jump up, to scream, to grab Roda by the shoulders and shake him. What was this? Why would Slaine be wandering about in the dark with nearly a dozen fully armed warriors?

He failed to imagine a valid answer to any of those questions, but he did know that it didn’t bode well. Nothing good could come of that.

He waited and kept his anguish to himself, though. Roda hadn’t moved in the slightest since the last one had slipped past. He kept his attention fixed on the, but nothing more came. Eventually he placed a hand on Amon’s arm and motioned to move back the way they’d come from.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Together they slunk back through the trees until they were hidden from the road.

“We need to turn back to Beckhead now.” Roda’s voice was tight. Emotionless, but full of tension.

“What’s happening? What are they doing?”

“Truthfully, I don’t know, but we need to go back now.”

“What if somehow Aile contacted them? Maybe they’re hunting me.”

“Maybe.”

Amon suddenly felt very cold for a summer’s night. The darkness seemed to swirl around him, the darkness itself a living, breathing thing that had swallowed him whole. “Aren’t you supposed to protect me?”

“You’ll be fine, but we’re going back. You aren’t the only one that needs protecting. We need to move fast. Let’s go.”

Amon wanted to mention that heading toward the danger was generally a poor strategy when protecting someone, and that Odrin would have more than a dozen of his own warriors at hand to protect him, but Roda placed a firm hand on his shirt and practically yanked him along into a run before he had a chance to say anything.

It was probably for the best he didn’t.

They ran together and Amon wondered again if he should let himself fall back and let the night swallow him. Somehow, his feet kept moving, though, and as the living night seemed to pulse and breathe around him, it seemed it was best to keep running.

###

By dawn I will be Chieftain.

The thought filled Slaine with warmth as he rode toward Beckhead with his closest and most trusted warriors. He almost couldn’t hold back the laugh that began to rise from his belly. His sword had waited for far too long to taste blood, but the hour had nearly arrived.

So much had changed in such a brief time. First, the Eternal Storm had ended. Then, almost immediately after, Kessen came to him with the news of Odrin’s betrayal. The gods had taken his side, it seemed. He’d known they planned greatness for him, but even he had to marvel at their mysterious workings. They’d laid out the path before him so clearly. He only needed to walk it, as he already was.

“What are you smiling about?” Maona asked, a skeptical note in her voice.

“Nothing,” he said, though he couldn’t seem to keep the grin from his face.

She glared at him before turning her attention back to the road. She’d remained sullen and tense since Kessen had first come to tell them about what he’d overheard. Not because she had doubts about what would come next – she would see her father dead without the slightest pang of conscience – but because she could not be sure of the outcome. She feared Odrin might have more weapons at his disposal, more men that would stay loyal to him.

Men had been loyal to Kadoc, the last Chieftain of Beckhead, but that hadn’t saved him.

Kadoc’s own son, still alive and well. It was still almost impossible to believe. He’d never liked Odrin. The Old Bear was arrogant and complacent, but he’d never expected the man to sink to such depths. Harboring Cassadan filth such as that was not only illegal, but the deepest betrayal of his fellow Illians.

But if Amon was a mage, that meant he was potentially dangerous. He’d heard of Cassada’s most powerful mages freezing the blood in a man’s veins, or boiling their insides until steam seeped from their noses, mouths, and ears.

They needed to tread very carefully, whatever came next. That was why Maona was so tense, and perhaps she was right to be wary, but he had faith.

The gods wouldn’t array all the pieces on the board before him only to tear them away. Danger lay ahead, but if they acted quickly, if he could convince enough of the other loachs to join him, victory awaited.

By dawn I will be Chieftain, he told himself again.

“Are you sure about this?” Maona asked.

“I’m tired of your doubts, Maona. Keep them to yourself. They’ll listen and they’ll join us.”

He knew they would. They had to. By now, Kessen had probably already gathered the most important of Odrin’s loachs. They would be waiting for his arrival.

###

Slaine and his loachs stood at one end of the warehouse. Malain and a dozen of Odrin’s loachs stood at the other. Stacks of barrels and crates lined either side, but the narrow space between them lay open.

It would be a savage place for a fight, if it came to that. Not a place for swords and spears, but daggers and garrots. Slaine’s Cassadan sword stayed strapped to his back, but he the the long knife at his side would serve him well.

Malain stepped forward. He was a man of about fifty, with an impressive belly hanging over his belt and a bald head that gleamed in the torchlight. He stood at least a full head shorter than Slaine, though he didn’t seem to know it. He acted as if he were a giant among men.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Malain demanded. “Your dog brought us here. He said you’d provide the explanation and it better be a good one. You’re lucky I haven’t already gone to our Chieftain.”

Slaine smiled and stepped forward himself. Malain must have been tempted indeed to tell Odrin, but he knew as well as every man in this room that one day soon Slaine would take over as Chieftain. He’d counted on them all thinking hard on that.

“My dog –” he glanced toward Kessen, who seemed none too pleased with the term, accurate though it was, “ – brought you here because our Chieftain has been hiding Cassadan mages among his thralls. He’s been hiding them for years, including Kadoc’s own son.”

Mutters rippled through the men that stood behind Malain. Malain himself seemed stunned. Confusion, disbelief, shock, and anger all warred within him.

“Kadoc’s son was killed in the Purge,” Malain said. “This is nonsense.”

“Did you see the body?” Slaine asked. “I’d heard he was killed in Karrakdun, but no one in Beckhead saw the body, and probably none would have recognized him anyway. He spent most of his life in Cassada before the storm.”

"What proof do you have?” Malain asked.

Slaine nodded toward Kessen. “He heard the king admit it. Yesterday morning, he took a private audience with a thrall. Strange, that is, so strange that Kessen couldn’t help but eavesdrop, and good that he did, or else we never would have learned of Odrin’s treachery.”

“Spying on another man is low. A man could be killed for an offense like that.” Malain didn’t hide his loathing toward Kessen. Probably most men around here loathed Kessen, but a dog didn’t have to be loved to be useful.

“He plans on bringing this thrall, Amon, back to Cassada,” Kessen added. “Who knows what he has planned? He probably means to stab High Chieftain Aile in the back. Probably conspiring with the Cassadans this whole time.”

More mutters and murmurs. A few hands drifted closer to sword hafts and axes.

Including Malain. The older man had tucked a small hand axe into his belt. The edge looked sharp enough to shave with.

“Maybe,” Malain said, holding up a hand. The murmuring ceased. “Maybe this is all true, but I’ve known our Chieftain longer than any man here. He’s never mistreated any one of us. His loyalty to High Chieftain Aile has never come into question before. I fought and bled with the man in Cassada, and if I’ll need more than this scum’s word to believe it.”

Slaine watched a few heads nod behind the man, thought he heard a subtle noise of agreement from behind as well. It reignited the flame in him, coaxed back into a raging inferno. It took all his self-control not to reach for the dagger. If he had a little more fura in his veins, he would have.

“There will be a time to discuss evidence,” Slaine said. “But only if we seize the opportunity now. I don’t know what Odrin has planned, but we need to move quickly before it’s too late. We arrest Odrin and find the boy. Tonight. We’ll interrogate them and then we’ll verify everything Kessen has said, but I already know it’s true.”

That earned some signals of approval as well. One of Malain’s men whispered in the ear of another, a few heads cocked in what could have been assent. He could feel the whole room tottering now, wobbling on the edge of a knife. It could fall in either direction.

Slaine looked about. The men and women who stood at his back were the ones he thought he could trust most, but everyone in this room had sworn oaths to Odrin. Those oaths wouldn’t bend or break easily. Any man who did that might find himself banished from Beckhead forever, at best. Nailed a Soothtree at worst.

“And if the evidence is lacking,” Malain said, “every one of us in here will be an oathbreaker and a traitor.” Disgust dripped from those words oathbreaker and traitor. The two gravest insults in the Illian tongue. His hand finally came to rest on the head of his axe. “A loach does not arrest his Chieftain. We’re sworn to defend and obey him, as I recall.”

Now Slaine could feel the room teetering in the wrong direction.

“It’s all true, what Kessen said.”

Maona’s voice seemed to instantly send the balance the other way, or at least set it back at neutral. She’d stepped in through the door behind them, pushing her way to the front now. Her fine white-cloth shawl gave her a hint of divinity and purity amid the dingy squalor of the warehouse. All eyes went to her as she found her way to the gap between the two groups of warriors.

“You have proof?” Malain asked.

“I’ve heard it from my father’s mouth, too. I overheard him. Odrin betrayed all of us. We need to seize him tonight. I would not turn against my own father unless I was sure.” She scanned the room, daring anyone to challenge on her on that, her round cheeks blushing red, but her eyes glinting like hard steel.

And just like that, the room became Slaine’s. He could feel the shift of it, subtle but undeniable. It was in the way they all looked at each other.

If the Chieftains own daughter would turn against him it must be true. That’s what they were all thinking.

Except for maybe Malain. He drew his axe.

Slaine drew his dagger, stepped forward, and pulled Maona back with one arm. “Watch yourself, Malain. You don’t want to be on the wrong side of this.”

He must have sensed the shift too. “Any man who goes against Chieftain is an oathbreaker and I’ll be damned before I break my word.” He spun around to stare down and challenge his own men, though Slaine could already see that was useless. Maona had already won them over. They would rather see the evidence for themselves at this point. Their oaths were moot if Odrin himself was a traitor.

With his back turned, Kessen’s knife flashed and sunk into the small of Malain’s back.

Malain gave a little gasp - a surprisingly dainty sound for a man like that. He collapsed to one knee.

Slaine freed his own blade, the fire rushing through him along with his blood. That had been a risky move by Kessen, one they’d not discussed, but it was done now. Every man and women behind him freed their weapons, ready for the melee.

As Malain died on the dirt floor, his men all looked to each other. None reached for their weapons, though.

“We move for the Longhouse. The guards at the gate will let me. Once we’re inside, we arrest Roda, any other loachs we find, and grab Odrin. He’ll tell us where to find the slave boy. Then we’ll see what he has to say.”

Heads nodded.

He looked at Maona. She had the slightest trace of a smile.

He wanted to laugh suddenly, to sweep her up and carry her into the nearest bed or haystack. That would have to wait though. The night’s business was not quite done.

He stepped out into the night, with two dozen loachs at his back.