Hunger lost the scent of the Koramite and his son. At first, it didn’t bother him. He watched the people and animals come and go. But toward late afternoon it occurred to him that the Koramite and his son might not have gone to the city at all. They might have simply ridden on by.
This gave him pause. What if they weren’t coming back this way? What if they weren’t coming back at all? Argoth might hold lands in that other direction. They might be gone visiting; they might be gone for a weeklong hunt for all he knew.
He shouldn’t have let them go. No, he’d made a miscalculation. He should have given them chase.
But then he calmed himself. They were either in the city or they were beyond it. The wind was blowing in from the sea. All he needed to do was walk the edge of the forest in a line running toward the city.
If the Koramite and his boy were in the city or going to travel back, he’d pick up their scent. And if they weren’t, well, then they had quite a start on him.
But Hunger would find them. Of that he had no doubt. He’d been a great hunter in his time. At least, one of those he’d eaten had been.
Hunger stood and began making his way down the hill. Below him on the road, three boys in red hats herded a large flock of sheep. Their long-haired, black and white dogs barked to keep the sheep from straying too far from the road.
Hunger stepped out of the brush into the middle of the flock and sent the sheep running. The second boy, walking perhaps only a dozen feet ahead, looked back. His expression of curiosity turned to horror.
Hunger could catch the shepherd and eat him. He paused. He could smell him, taste him on the wind. He could eat them all.
No, he told himself. He would not. If he did, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself the next time.
One of the dogs began barking.
Something drifted to him on the breeze. He opened his mouth.
The burning boy. The scent was faint but unmistakable.
This time, Hunger thought, you won’t get away. He turned from the shepherd and his sheep.
The dog followed him to the brush on the far side of the road, snarling. The young man found his voice and yelled a warning. But another three steps and Hunger was well into the wood, the sounds of the shepherds and their dogs receeding behind him.
alen peered out from the wagon bed. The men following them had begun to trot their horses.
“I’m jumping out around that next bend,” said Talen. Nettle could continue with the wagon while Talen tried to escape on foot.
“They’ve already seen you,” said Nettle.
“You don’t know that.”
“You don’t know that they haven’t.”
“It’s the only way.”
“Just act normal,” said Nettle.
“Will you shut up with your normal nonsense.”
“I’m Captain Argoth’s son. It will count for something.”
“Yeah,” said Talen. “That’s why I was standing around this morning at the city gate batting horseflies from my naked body.”
“As soon as they realize you’re gone, they’ll know. They’ll send one back for help. The rest will watch the area. And the woods here don’t run unbroken. They’ll see you.”
“No,” said Talen. “They won’t.” But he knew they would. By the stinking lord of pigs, they would.
Unless he hid so well, so quietly, like a mouse in a tuft of grass, that they’d have to be standing right on him to know he was there.
“Just get me to the bend in the road,” said Talen. They didn’t have dogs, and it would be dark before they could bring them. That was the only thing he had in his favor.
Talen caught another glimpse of the men, perhaps a half-dozen rods behind. There were eight of them, all Shoka.
The wagon bumped along, making it difficult for Talen to keep himself flat and out of sight in the wagon bed. At this pace they weren’t going to make the bend. “Speed it up,” hissed Talen.
“We’ll say you’re sick.”
“It won’t work,” said Talen.
Behind them, the men urged their horses into a canter.
“Faster,” said Talen.
Nettle flipped the reins and Iron Boy began to trot. The wagon bounced off a rut.
Talen readied himself.
It was odd, but the sensation of energy and well-being he’d noticed passing through the city gate had not vanished. If anything, it had built. He felt as if he could keep pace with a horse, maybe outrun one.
Of course, that was stupid. Still, with every jolt of the wagon his strength grew. He could feel it, like a crazy itch seeping through him. He wondered about the ginger cookies. This would not be the first baker to mix a come-back into his breads. Come-backs were something to make a body depend on his bread, something besides taste to make a person come back and continue to buy. Of course, such herbs were outlawed in the New Lands, but it had been a Whitecliff baker. He probably didn’t think such rules applied to him.
“We’re almost to the bend,” said Nettle.
The men were closing fast. One of them yelled out.
The wagon passed into the shade of trees and out of the the men’s sight.
Nettle reined in Iron Boy to slow the wagon.
Talen rose to his feet.
“You’re not going to have time to find cover.”
Not if he ran into the woods. The forest floor was covered with leaves that would crackle underfoot. If they didn’t see his tracks, then they’d be sure to hear any step he took.
Talen looked up. The trees here were massive giants. All the lower limbs had been cut by clan road gangs, and the closest branch towered more than a dozen feet overhead.
It was an impossible height for him. Except, he knew he could reach them. His limbs ached to jump. What did he have to lose?
Talen stood on the wagon seat and eyed the limb of a towering elm in front of them. The branch was as thick as his leg and hung almost twenty feet above the trail.
The tree limb was too high. He knew it. But he couldn’t help himself. His legs cried out for a sudden burst of power. He had never imagined his growth would come upon him in this fashion.
He stood on the wagon seat and held his hands out to the side for balance. He would jump a bit to the side just in case he missed.
“You’ll never make it,” said Nettle.
“Maybe my legs are as quick as my hands.”
“That wasn’t quickness back there with Fabbis,” said Nettle. “That was you grabbing a snake that was just about dead.”
No, Talen thought. It had been as live and wriggling as any serpent he’d ever held. Not to mention that he’d moved quickly enough to take both Fabbis and Cat off guard. Talen steadied himself; he was still a bit light-headed, but the itch inside him had built. He could feel the power.
The sound of the horse hooves beating the ground sped from a canter to a full gallop.
“They’re on us!” hissed Nettle. “Sit down!”
Talen focused on the branch. “Tell them I struck out on foot after leaving the gate.”
He was almost there.
The galloping sounded as if it were right behind them.
The wagon passed underneath the branch, and Talen leapt.
He soared.
He must have got a bounce from the seat, because the branch was suddenly within reach.
He grabbed it with one hand, and the wagon passed below him.
Talen reached up with his other hand and swung over.
It was impossible that he’d made the jump. He looked down. The distance between him and the ground yawned below. Lords, a fall at this height would break his leg.
He wanted to whoop. Such a leap.
Nettle turned in the wagon seat and stared up at him, his mouth hanging open. Then Nettle’s attention snapped to the bend in the road.
Talen got to his feet, and in one, two, three balancing strides, worked himself to the far side of the trunk and flattened himself against it. Nettle was now on the other side of the tree.
The first rider rounded the bend.
With a thunder, the others followed. By this time Nettle had pulled the wagon to the side of the road, as if giving faster travelers the right of way as courtesy demanded.
Please, thought Talen. Let them ride on by. Let them ride on by.
But the horsemen did not. They pulled their horses to a stop and commanded Nettle to hold.
Talen dared not move, dared not even attempt a glance below him. He tried to meld into the trunk. He couldn’t see what was going on, but he could hear.
“Where’s the Koramite?” one of the men asked.
“And who are you?” asked Nettle. “I haven’t seen you before.”
“You’ve seen me,” another man said, the anger clear in his voice. “Now where is he?”
“I don’t need to answer your questions,” said Nettle. “You can address your concerns to my father.”
“It appears,” the second man said, “that your father has made the wrong friends. And he’s not here to protect you.”
“What do you mean?”
Metal scraped against metal-a sword being drawn!
“Where is the Koramite?” the man demanded.
“Don’t threaten me,” said Nettle.
A pause. A scuffle.
“Stop,” said Nettle, his voice distressed. “He left on foot the first chance after we passed through the gate.”
Talen wished he could see what was happening. All he could see was the bark before him and the rumps of three horses.
“We saw two sitting on this wagon seat.”
“That’s what we meant for you to see,” said Nettle.
“You lie.”
Nettle cried out in pain.
Talen almost leaned out to get a better view. What if they had found the hatchlings back at the farmstead? If they had, Nettle was in terrible danger.
“Fool,” said Nettle. “I rode with that barrel and sack of potatoes next to me, all covered with cloth. He’s gone, flown!”
“You’re lying,” the second man said. He raised his voice. “Search the woods.”