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Garion followed. Charlie felt his gaze and quirked an eyebrow.
“You’ve changed, Charlie,” the assassin said.
Charlie snorted. “What gave you that impression?”
He looked down at himself, his belly still round beneath his coat. But he was leaner than ever before, thinned out by hard days of travel. He knew his face was probably gaunt and pale, his stubble patchy, his skin grimy with dirt and sweat. And his lovely chestnut hair, once oiled and braided, looked worse than old straw. A far cry from a robed priest in a god’s church, or even a forgery master in his workshop.
Garion read his thoughts easily, shaking his head.
“You’ve never believed in anything like this before. Even your gods,” Garion said softly.
Gratitude swelled in Charlie’s chest. “Will you believe me, then?”
“I’ll try” was all he managed to say.
Then, without warning, Garion burst into motion. Like a cat, he scrambled up the closest pine tree with startling speed. Charlie blinked, startled, before following as best he could. He tried the lowest branch and immediately gave up.
“Well, what do you see?” he called into the branches.
Garion was already in the canopy, balanced precariously on a tree limb that looked too small to hold his weight.
“There’s some villages to the southwest, perhaps five miles off,” he said, shading his eyes against the bright sunlight above the trees. “I can see the smoke trails. And there’s the river due east, working through the forest.”
Charlie winced as Garion shifted in the branches, climbing to an even higher spot.
“What are you looking for exactly?” he shouted.
Garion waved a hand. “A castle? A tower? You’d know better than me.”
“And I know next to nothing,” Charlie muttered to himself. He had no idea what an Elder enclave looked like, let alone where it might be. Again he kicked a stone into the trees.
“That cloud does look a bit like a dragon,” the assassin said with the edge of a laugh.
“Don’t start,” Charlie growled.
Garion tsked, shimmying back down the trunk of the pine. He jumped the last six feet, landing gingerly on his toes.
Show-off, Charlie thought again.
Then he cupped his hands around his mouth and spun, facing north. Charlie heaved a breath and yelled, his voice loud enough to shake a few birds from the branches.
“VEDERA OF THE CASTLEWOOD,” he boomed. Overhead, an owl hooted in annoyance, awakened from her sleep. Charlie paid her no mind, his focus on the woods. “I AM LOOKING FOR CORAYNE AN-AMARAT.”
Next to him, Garion clapped his hands to his ears. “Lasreen’s eyes, warn a man next time,” he muttered, watching Charlie with something between fascination and confusion.
Charlie ignored him and took another breath. “VEDERA OF THE CASTLEWOOD. I HAVE NEWS OF SPINDLES TORN.”
Garion tipped his head. “What’s a Vedera?”
“It’s what the Elders call themselves,” Charlie said out of the corner of his mouth. “VEDERA OF THE CASTLEWOOD.”
Next to him, Garion curled a lip with annoyance. “This isn’t going to work.”
Charlie shrugged. “I’m used to it.”
“Fine,” Garion snapped back. With a scowl, he raised his hands to his mouth anyway.
Together, they screamed into the dark reaches of the forest, their voices reverberating off branch, earth, and stone.
