The Black Road, Eganene

When the man appeared at the end of the road, Ian was in the middle of a deep argument with himself, the topic, of course, concerning what day it was. While he knew, with out a doubt, that it was indeed the eighth day of March, several of the voices in his head had been conspiring to convince him otherwise. Why they might want to do that or who they really were was a point of contention between himself and the cat.

Not that what the cat said mattered either. Especially since he wasn’t here right now and Morder didn’t actually voice his opinions in words. The damn thing preferred to express itself directly into Ian’s skull. Ian did feel a little weird about that, but he supposed it wasn’t surprising. If the cat was right, he had been majically tied to the tree for more than a few weeks. Who wouldn’t get a little looney at that point?

It took the man far longer to reach him than Ian hoped. All in all, he counted one hundred seventy two breaths before the shadow-figure resolved itself as a man in a hood. He had a bow strapped to his back and a giant-sized pack, a string of three rabbits hanging from his belt. Ian was in no position to reprimand him for his late appearance. He was still bound to a tree and unable to talk.

The man did stop and look at him, his dark face full of concern, eyes big and caring. Ian would have laughed, but of course, he couldn’t do that either. Instead, he held the man’s eyes, pleading, begging, screaming and yelling. All the sounds were in his head, but the birds in the nearby trees took off in disgust, tired of his antics and desirous of some mid-morning sleep.

So, all alone in the forest, Ian looked at the man and the man looked at him. Had he been able to see himself, it would have been easier to understand. His clothes were matted with dirt, leaves, forest debris, newly emerging moss and mushrooms. How else would someone walking by be expected to respond?

But he did not know these things. And so he seethed and was angry and wished many horrible things to happen to the man who stood before him. Ian waited for him to do one of the many things he, himself, could not do.

He was surprised when the man sat next to him and leaned his own back against the tree. At first, Ian was pleased to have the company. But, the man did not speak, did not look at him any more. He just sat there sullenly, watching the road as Ian did, but with a bow and arrow in his hand.

The longer the man sat there, the angrier Ian became. The guy had a warm coat, his hood up against the early spring winds and Ian had nothing. The man had not covered him with a blanket, nor asked of his health. Instead, he simply rested beside him, his weapon at the ready, waiting.

Ian tried to ignore him, to look expectantly at the empty road and wait patiently for rescue, but was unable. The man beside him seemed so familiar. Ian rolled his eyes again and again towards him to look more closely at his face. Too soon, he was exhausted by this and stopped. He looked to his hands, instead, to tell him who the man was. He knew he should know.

Night collapsed against him, and Ian clawed at his prison. In reality he did no such thing, but in his mind he struggled for hours, until exhausted by his efforts, he lay back. He willed the man to leave him to his peaceful hopelessness.

He hadn’t expected the cat to come that night and was surprised to see its eyes gleaming from across the road. The man beside him didn’t stir. Ian suspected he was probably asleep.

The cat, on the other hand, walked over to him. His tail swished in greeting as moonlight reflected from his shiny, black fur.

Morder, Ian thought in greeting. He was surprised to see him, what with the man beside him.

The cat was larger than when they’d met, now the size of a big dog. Its face was eye level to his as it licked his throat. The man beside him still hadn’t moved. Ian was glad he hadn’t scared his friend away.

Scared? the cat thought. Who am I to be scared?

Ian shrugged mentally, he didn’t want to enter that argument again.

But the cat was persistent. Why should I be scared of this man?

Men are killers, Ian replied. They hunt in the forest, kill animals for food. They have bows, arrows and guns.

Morder flopped on his side beside him, opposite to the man. His body was heavy on Ian’s leg. He was warm and familiar, his yellow eyes watching the man. The night grew deeper. The three figures sat so still that the other animals began to venture out. Ian wondered if Morder had already eaten. Sometimes the cat had killed his dinner beside him, but Ian didn’t enjoy the sight.

The cat’s belly grumbled. Ian was out of luck. Soon enough, an animal large enough to catch Morder’s interest had the misfortune of venturing too close. It was a fox, its coat red and white in the forest blackness, stalking prey of its own, its nose down against the road.

Ian felt the cat tense against his leg. Its mind was suddenly calm and quiet, assessing when it would leap, how close he would let the fox get before it pounced.

The man pulled his bow up. Morder didn’t notice. His concentration was solely for the fox. He wondered whether or not he should warn his friend. It looked as though the man wanted the fox as much as the cat did.

Neither would be successful.

Without warning, a horrific creature hurdled from the brush and slammed into the fox, crushing it beneath one of its massive hind legs and ripping its head from its body in one graceful movement.

Danger! Morder screamed in his mind. At the same time, the man beside him scrambled into a crouch with his bow drawn.

It was a Creeling. Its black, hairless body was massive in the moonlight. The muscles of its back rippled as it unfurled featherless wings to beat at the sky, screeching. Its head was huge, three times the size of the largest dog Ian had ever seen. It had canine teeth, angled out to curve over human looking lips. Black eyes, set wide on either side of its head, rested beneath bat-like ears which twitched and shuddered as it feasted.

The three witnesses did not move, although, if Ian could have, he would have run screaming as far and as fast as possible.

Lucky you can’t then, human, the cat thought quietly. It would kill you in seconds.

Can it hear us? Ian asked, adverting his eyes to look at the cat.

No, it replied. At least, I don’t think so.

If we are dead, Morder, I want to thank you for staying with me.

The cat laughed inside his head. My mother will be here soon, human. She will not let this creature stalk her woods.

Ian listened carefully, trying to ignore the low growls, the crunching bone and ripping noises coming from the middle of the road. Soon he heard it, the shake of the trees, the whoosh as Morder’s mother leapt from one branch to another.

But the Creeling heard her, too. Its jaws stopped and it sat back on its hind legs, the stub of its tail still.

When she landed above them, the tree moved so violently that the man beside him was knocked into Ian’s side.

Several things happened at once. Morder’s mother leapt down into the road, roaring so fiercely that Ian cringed back, falling against the man beside him with a cry.

You moved! shouted Morder in his mind. He bounded to his mother, teeth bared to show his fangs.

The man beside him grasped his shoulder and helped him to stand. Pulling him to the side, the tree was between them and the Creeling. Ian had time to notice that he did indeed know him. “Kassam,” he tried to say, his voice a broken ruin.

“Ian?” the man whispered. “Dear gods, it is you! I couldn’t tell. I thought you were spelled.”

“I was!” he croaked, unsure whether or not to believe this was actually happening.

Just then two roars split the forest silence. The Creeling’s scream was so sharp and violent that both men clasped with their hands over their ears. Ian was too exhausted to stand and fell back to his knees, peering around the side of the tree to discover Morder’s fate.

The cat’s mother was half the size of the Creeling, but she was lighting fast as she leapt from the ground to meet the creature in the air. Their bodies crashed heavily, shining black fur against dull grey skin. Morder, too, attacked, bounding onto the nightmare’s back, his sharp claws slicing through its wings.

The Creeling howled at the air. Morder’s mother sprung for its neck, her sharp teeth digging into its neck, her claws slicing into its exposed underside. Ian scrambled to his feet as Kassam knocked his bow.

The celebration was short lived. The creature threw itself to the ground. Morder was flung from its back; his mother slammed into the Black road. Shrieking, the Creeling’s claws raked down the cat’s stomach and blood rushed from her skin. Her scream was violent, reverberating through Ian’s chest.

The beast reared again. Morder’s mother was scrambling at the ground, trying to right herself. Ian saw Kassam pull back the string. The hunter’s face was calm, as though he were shooting a deer and not aiming for a nightmare that would kill them all. The arrow flew true, hitting the creature through the shoulder, where its heart should have been. The Creeling hardly seemed to notice the wound. It did, however, notice them.

Howling, it launched itself over the wounded grandpanther, heading for them, teeth bared, long strands of saliva looping from its open jaws. Ian screamed and threw his arms in front of his eyes. He didn’t see Morder’s mother swipe her paw at the Creeling.

Three inches of claw sliced through the muscle behind its ankle, sending it into the brush beside him.

When he looked up, he saw Kassam’s sword inches in front of his eyes. And then it was gone, swung forward so fast that it was a silver blur, all the hunter’s weight behind it, down into the creature’s chest. Kassam skipped backwards, grabbing Ian’s shirt as he went and hauling him onto the road. The Creeling screamed, thrashing in the brush, trying to dislodge the sword.

Morder had found his mother, the giant cat struggling to stand as her stomach oozed a great puddle. She snarled at her cub and fought her way to where the Creeling howled, Morder trailing behind.

Ian, too, fought to find his feet, pulling himself up on Kassam’s arm. His whole body felt strange and unresponsive, shuddering with the flood of adrenaline.

Morder’s mother wasn’t done yet. The muscles in her hind legs flexed and she cried out as she leapt, her body crashing down onto the Creeling. Her teeth ripped at its throat, pulling out the flesh, finishing the job she had started. Protecting her cub.

The voice inside his head was silent, and Ian was suddenly aware that it was over. Nothing moved in the woods, neither Creeling nor grandpanther. Morder was nowhere to be seen. Everything was still.

“It’s dead,” Kassam exhaled, helping Ian over to his tree and back to the ground. “By Tod, that was incredible!” The man’s voice was giddy and excited, thrilled to be alive.

Ian shook his head, trying to understand what had just happened. Was this a hallucination? He grabbed at the forest floor as he sat, feeling the wet dirt against his fingers. Elation swept through him. He was free!

“You need to rest,” Kassam was saying. “Open my pack, there is some food and drink. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Ian looked at him in confusion, trying to process the words he’d heard. Coming from outside his head, they required a lot more effort to understand. “Food, yes,” he managed, dropping next to the pack. How could his legs be so tired from just standing?

Morder? he asked softly. Are you alright?

“I’m going to check the Creeling,” Kassam said. “I need to see it for myself that it’s actually dead.”

Ian nodded absently, fumbling for Kassam’s pack. Did grandpanthers mourn their dead?

She was very brave, Ian thought at Morder. Even if the cat didn’t reply, perhaps he would take some heart from Ian’s words.

Kassam returned a few minutes later with his sword sheathed. “Amazing,” he exclaimed, taking the flask Ian had found in the pack and taking a drink for himself. “I’ve only seen a grandpanther once and a Creeling, never. I saw the tracks and figured you were trying to lure one in as bait.”

He gestured toward Ian, “I thought you’d set yourself up in camouflage.”

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

Ian grabbed another fist full of dirt, letting the feeling ground him. This was real. This man was actually talking to him.

“When you didn’t speak or move, I knew you were spelled. Thought I would wait and see who came back for you, see what I could do. You're from Faenella, right? The Smith’s son.”

Ian looked away as Kassam continued, “I’m sorry for your loss, boy. Your father was a good man.”

The man’s words were clearer now, the stain of sorrow making them heavy. Ian thought it was likely Kassam spoke truly. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Kassam filled the silence, “We thought you died in the fire. If you’re willing, I’d hear how you escaped? How long have you been here? Who spelled you?”

When he finally stopped speaking, Ian took another swig of barley wine. Having eaten nothing in weeks, his head was spinning and he was pretty sure he was already drunk. Kassam didn’t mean anything by the questions, he was just curious, but it hurt all the same.

After a few minutes, and in a voice that sounded like another person, he said, “Family came and killed them all. An old woman and man were waiting around the bend from my house when they let me go. I followed them here.”

He frowned, feeling his rage rekindling,“They were not as they seemed. The woman was a sorceress. The man, her master.”

Kassam knelt down, pulling the pack over, “You have been out here for some time. I’m not sure you understand…”

“Of course, I do,” Ian interrupted him, voice cracking as he used it again. “The Family came to our home because of them. They killed my brother, father and mother on their orders. I know they did it.”

The man was looking at him oddly, his expression sad.

“What?” Ian asked. “I don’t need your pity.”

“It is not that,” he said taking his sword and sharpening the blade against his whetstone. He held out his hand in formal greeting, “I am Kassam.”

“I know. I remember you,” he managed. Sighing, he said, “Ian.”

“Well met, Ian.”

Clearly, the man didn’t mean him harm, Ian thought, resisting the sudden urge to leave. He looked away, not wanting to see the emotion on the man’s face.

Kassam took a breath, “I’m not sure how to explain this, so, I’m just going to do it. Your father was helping the Resistance. That is why the Family killed them. For the last few years, I delivered weapons for him to several outposts.”

Kassam passed him the skin of wine, thumping it into his hand when he didn’t respond. Then he continued, “I have passed through your town for years. Your father was a good man and true.”

Ian ground his teeth together, anger and confusion warring for control. His father in the Resistance? The night he and Simon had seen the people in his kitchen. Could it be?

“I’ve been Resistance for years,” Kassam was saying. “Hunting and bounty work make it easy to travel, bring news and weapons. You understand, don’t you, Ian. Your dad was a good man.”

“But, but....” Ian stuttered into silence, a buzzing noise flaring inside his mind. He couldn’t put it together. He took another sip of wine, tipping the bag high into the air in order to reach the dregs.

“I’m sorry,” Kassam said quietly, sitting beside him again.

The buzzing turned to high-pitched ringing and he shook his head, trying to clear it. Who had betrayed his father? Who had led the Family to their home?

“How did the Family come to find my father out?”

Kassam looked at him sadly. “They let you go.”

He didn’t understand. “Yes, but...”

Kassam clapped him on the shoulder. The ringing noise was constant now, almost muffling what the man said next. “I am sorry to be the one to tell you this. I would give the job to another man if I could.”

“Tell me,” Ian managed.

Kassam stood, looking out across the Black road, back the way he had come. The pool of blood and its sad trail was grotesque in the moonlight. He took a deep breath, “You spoke of your father’s midnight visitors to people in the market place. The news traveled to the wrong ears and the Family suspected your father. He had no way to refute their claims and so they killed him. You, they let go, hoping you would lead them to more of us.”

Ian’s shoulders shook with his sobs, guilt burying him more deeply than the snow. Morder was nowhere to be seen. His lap was cold and empty. Sometime later, he felt the Hunter wrap a blanket about his shoulders.

Sleep must have claimed him at some point, because he woke to bright light and a throbbing headache.

“Tod,” he muttered, sitting up. He used the tree behind him to gain his feet, stretching his arms and legs. The fact that he was able to move, was a surprise. It hadn’t been a dream. “Here,” Kassam said, handing him a skin. “It’s water this time.”

Ian grunted his thanks and drained the bottle. Slowly, because his legs still felt new, he found relief in the woods. How could it be possible that this was his first piss in weeks, he wondered. If he never saw majic again, that be just fine with him.

Morder? he tried, wondering again where the cat had gone.

“We’ll need to move on the skins,” Kassam said when he returned. “It’s getting warmer by the minute.”

Ian frowned, “I’m not sure we should.”

“We’ll make a heavy profit if we can find a way to carry them back.”

Ian felt his stomach twist, “I’m not sure I can help you. Especially not with the cat’s body.”

Kassam stood, “You need food and more water. It’ll take some time before you’re feeling right again.” Grabbing his pack, he rooted inside until he found what he was looking for. “It’s not much,” he said, holding out a handful of dried fruit. “But it will tide you over until I cook us some breakfast.”

Ian took the fruit and inhaled it. Gods, food! he thought, unable to slow himself.

“Whoa, there!” Kassam exclaimed. “You certainly look skinny enough, but if you eat too fast you’re going to get cramps.”

Ian kept chewing, desperate to fill the empty pit that was his stomach.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” Kassam said, leaving him.

Alone again, Ian finished the fruit, wishing there was more. Taking stock of himself, he cringed at the pallor of his skin and his emaciated chest. While Agatha hadn’t killed him outright, he’d have wasted away without Kassam’s intervention. At the thought of Agatha, he winced.

He’d tried to kill Jamie. It hadn’t been Jamie and Agatha who’d led the Family to his home. They’d been helping him. The realization struck him, his thoughts whirling with understanding.

Perhaps his binding had somehow been a kindness? She hadn’t killed him when he attacked Jamie. Gods, he would need to find them one day and make this right.

It was midafternoon when Kassam returned.

Ian said, “Thank you for your words last night.”

“You deserved no less,” Kassam replied, dropping into a crouch. “Look, let us discuss it no more now. I’ve got some lunch for us and then we should get moving. The Creeling trophy will fetch us some good money. Not to mention the grandpanther fur.”

Ian couldn’t help but shudder. He wished he knew where Morder had gone and if the cat was alive. Kassam stripped the nearest tree of its younger branches, using his knife to peel the bark and spit two rabbits over the fire. The smell was intoxicating, like his mother’s stew. When they were black and cooked, Kassam handed Ian a skewer.

Not waiting for the meat to cool, Ian ripped into the meal as if he were a grandpanther. In no time, he’d swallowing huge chucks, the rich meat sinking into his empty stomach, filling that giant hole inside himself. After so long without real food, this was amazing! The flavors of grilled meat, a hot meal, it was like coming home again. This is what he needed, real food, energy to sustain himself.

Coming up to breath, he inhaled sharply. Without warning, cramps ripped through his stomach. Scrambling to his feet, he dropped the skewer on the forest floor.

“Ian?” he heard Kassam call.

Pain shot across his stomach, lancing deep into his bowels. Saliva filled his mouth, the taste of the rabbit’s flesh suddenly thick and greasy. Ian’s stomach balled in on itself, his gorge rising. What was happening?

Lurching away, Ian dropped to his knees. In seconds, everything he’d eaten came back up, the mess splashing onto the forest floor. The smell was horrendous, like the rabbit had been rotten when he’d eaten it.

“Are you alright?” he heard Kassam calling.

Ian heaved again, his stomach desperately trying to purge the meal from his body. Slowly, the cramps subsided and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. There was nothing left inside him, nothing but a hole in his stomach again.

“Ian?”

“I’ll be back in a minute,” he replied, the smell of his mess and Kassam’s meal sending him away. He needed air!

Stumbling to the Black road, he made his way a few hundred feet from their camp. Giving Kassam a wave of reassurance, he took giant breaths of cool, crisp air. He could see Kassam finishing his meal and looked away. Even the thought of eating made him feel sick again.

Eventually, he saw Kassam move towards the woods. Ian realized he was fashioning a makeshift sled for the skins. The thought of the man processing the Creeling and grandpanther set him to wretch again. This time there was nothing left but spit, the useless attempt making his throat raw. It took him awhile, but eventually his stomach settled.

When he made his way back, Kassam looked at him worriedly, “I should have warned you. Too much rich food when you’re hungry can do that to a man.”

“Let’s not talk about it,” Ian said, glancing at where he’d made his mess.

Kassam nodded, pointing at the sled, “If you’re ready, I’ve got us packed up. I’ll be able to carry it most of the time. If you have the strength later, two could pull easier than one.”

Ian nodded, he wanted to help, but felt weak and shaky. His body had needed that food. After so long bound to the tree, his body didn’t respond as it should. His legs needed to practice walking.

Kassam grabbed ahold of the stout sticks and hauled the sled onto the Black road.

The load was covered with an oiled skin and Ian was grateful he didn’t have to look at it. “Where are you headed?” he asked, not wanting to be left alone.

“South to Orlenia. There is a massive market there and we can sell this for a lot of money. I was headed there, anyway. To help the Resistance. There will be a lot of people there who owe your father a debt of gratitude. If you want it, there’s a place for you with us.”

Ian didn’t know what he thought about that. The whole idea of the Resistance had been crazy a few weeks ago. Did he want to join them? The people who his father and mother died for? He didn’t know them at all. What about his brother? Who had Simon died for?

“Let’s go,” he muttered, glad when Kassam didn’t press him. It felt good to be silent. The forest seemed unnaturally so, the scraping of the sticks against the macadam and their footfalls were the only sounds. For weeks the woods had been filled with birds and creatures, their noise supplying the world with busy meaning. Now, there was nothing, only them. It was odd.

By evening, he was exhausted. Sitting on a large rock beside the road, he eyed his newest traveling companion. The Hunter had stripped himself of jacket and shirt and stalked down the Black road like a man on a mission, his eyes to the ground, one foot in front of the other. He was of a darker complexion that Ian associated with the western desert. Thin and wiry, he moved with a grace that Morder would have appreciated.

When he stopped, Ian said, “You’re as tired as I am.”

Sweat fell from Kassam’s forehead as he nodded. “There’s an Inn not far from here. There’ll be a hot meal and bath for you.”

Ian grimaced, thinking of the rabbit. “I don’t know if I can eat.”

“Come, Ian. I know the rabbit didn’t sit well with you, but I saw you eat the nuts and berries. You should see yourself. Gods be true, you are nothing but skin and bones.”

Ian lifted his coat and peered at his exposed ribs. “I know.”

“I’ve got some jerky. Stuff is as hard as a rock, but you’d be welcome to a strip.”

Ian stomach twisted, “No. Thank you though. I just can’t eat it. It’s just....”

“You’re starving.”

He shook his head, “I know. I just can’t right now.”

While Kassam ate a quick meal, Ian canvased the forest for Morder.

Are you here? he asked the cat, sending his thoughts out. Would Morder know that Kassam had taken his mother’s pelt? What would that cat think when he found out?

“Let’s get going,” Kassam said. "Give me a hand and we’ll make it by nightfall.”

“I’m exhausted.”

“I know,” the Hunter replied. “We’ll take a break here and then set out together. It won’t be so bad with the two of us. I promise.”

Hours later, Ian had reason to doubt Kassam’s promises. He, too, had stripped off his shirt, his painfully thin chest heaving as he strained to pull the sled. The last hour was a nice downhill run, but they hadn’t counted on the last mile being another climb. Ian refused to give in and hauled as hard as he could, desperately hoping for Kassam to call a break. The man did not, continuing to plunge ahead one footfall after another until finally, they stood beside the stable.

“Masters?” The small stableboy said gawking at Ian’s chest.

“Put this in the cold cellar,” Kassam replied, handing him a coin. “We’ll need some new clothes. Can you fetch them or should I ask inside?”

“No, Master. I’ll be happy to get them for you.”

“Good then,” Kassam smiled, handing him two more coins. “Go inside and find us a room. We’ll take the servant’s entrance and not offend the other patrons.”

The kid ran off, slipping beneath the Inn’s sign and through the ornately carved front door. Ian followed Kassam around back and in the through the kitchen, the powerful smell of cooked cabbage and roasted potatoes flooding his senses. Thankfully, his stomach remained quiet and Ian noted that he actually felt hungry. The cooks and serving girls all stared at them until the stable boy returned to lead them to their room. Ian did his best to ignore them.

While Kassam bathed, Ian ate. Never in his life had he had a better meal. Two loaves of hot, crusty bread, a bowl of broccoli and cheese soup, and a heaping plate of cabbage and potatoes completed his feast. Laying back on the bed, he had just enough time to wonder where Morder was before he fell asleep.

The grandpanther was in his dream though. It was a sad dream of loss, although Ian couldn’t remember much of it when he woke in the morning. Kassam was already awake and had ordered him a bath. The Hunter had slept on a pad on the floor, leaving Ian to the bed.

“Thank you for this.”

“You needed it,” Kassam said, opening the door. “When you’re done with the bath, there are some new clothes for you over there. I’ll be waiting for you at breakfast.”

Ian nodded, wondering how he was going to repay Kassam for his kindness. He had nothing. No money. No family. He’d even refused to help with the Creeling and grandpanther skins.

His stomach rumbled though his bath. The tub was larger than the one they’d had at home, and his thoughts turned dark as he thought about his family. Scrubbing at his skin, he peeled the weeks of grim from his body. He would go to breakfast as his mother would have expected. Clean, no dirt under his nails.

Morder, he thought again. He didn’t think it was likely that the grandpanther would come close to the Inn, but he felt the loss. The cat had been his constant companion and not speaking to him felt strange. Making it downstairs for breakfast helped to lighten his mood a bit. He turned away the bacon and eggs for the baked goods.

“No bacon?” Kassam asked, sitting across from him in the wooden booth. It is delicious here.”

Ian shrugged, continuing to stuff rolls into his mouth and pockets. “I used to eat it. The idea is making me sick now though.”

“Interesting.”

“Is it?” Ian shrugged, “My grandmother didn’t eat meat.”

“Some in my village that are the same. They care for the animals,” Kassam told him. “We hold these people in high regard.”

“Why?” Ian asked, smearing the berry jam on another sweet roll.

Kassam appraised him, “Our society believes they are special, that they can speak to the animals, help raise them, nurture them. We believe they have a special connection.”

Ian frowned, thinking of Morder and the last three weeks he spent talking to a grandpanther. Perhaps he wasn’t crazy, after all. “How does it work?” he asked.

Kassam shrugged, crisp boar strips disappearing into his mouth. “I do not understand their practice. My father and his father were Hunters. I was always going to be what I am now.”

Ian shook his head, trying not to watch the drips of grease that had found a new home in Kassam’s beard. “So you didn’t have a choice.”

“I was not disappointed. Those who are chosen for that life are forced to live apart from the rest of the village, the elders concerned that they would be killed along with the rest in the Purge.”

“So it’s majic?” Ian asked.

Several patrons entered, and Kassam dropped his voice, “The Family was never sure if the talent was majic or not, but they usually erred on the side of caution…”

Ian stabbed a slice of wrinkled apple and popped it into his mouth. He didn’t trust himself to say anything.

Kassam held the quiet for a while and let him settle. “I’ve got news,” the Hunter continued after a bit, signaling the waitress for more tea. “There’s a man here who’s taking a wagon train to Orlenia. He said we could come along for coin.”

Ian shrugged again, one place was as good as another. He had nothing to go back to. Kassam rolled his shoulders. “I thought you might like to ride with them.”

“I don’t have money. What kind of caravan is it?”

Kassam shook his head. “There are all types of wagons. There have been some attacks on the Black road and people are banding together for safety There are some cattle, horse traders, merchants and some travelers. None of them really know each other, but it’s better to travel together.”

Ian looked out the window and saw them, twelve wagons in all. The animals were grazing, the shepherds keeping a close eye on them. He thought they looked a bit thin for the market.

“It’s already loaded, you can ride with it. And if I remember correctly, you’re handy enough with a sword to be useful. They’re asking for Hunters to escort them.”

Ian paused, thinking about his weeks of training with Jamie. “Yeah, I’ve had practice with a blade.

Kassam smiled. “You can help drive the coach, protect the goods, split time. He’d probably let you ride with them for free. Might even pay you some. ”

“Sounds good,” Ian managed between mouthfuls, signaling the waitress for more muffins. This might be just the way to repay Kassam. “When are they leaving?”

“Tomorrow, first light. We’ll stay in the Inn tonight.”