“Maybe I’m not going to the city,” Rolan said, drawing himselfup to his full height. The effect was rather diminished by the fact that he was standing in a hole three times as deep as he was tall. “Maybe I’m going to Sylvet, as soon as I climb out of this measly hole. Which Icando. I was just catching my breath for a minute.”
“Ah.” The Arcanist leaned on the pommel of his saddle. “Sylvet. Then you should’ve hooked aright.”
“I don’t need directions.”
“What about pants?”
Rolan looked down at his bare legs.
“There are forty miles of open land between here and Sylvet,” said the Arcanist. “And probably a hundred Cryptics bigger than this horse. But back at my house I’ve got some shears, thread, and needles. I can cut a pair of pants that will fit you, and a shirt too. You can keep the knife, if it makes you feel better.”
Rolan had taken out the butter knife the moment he’d seen the man, without even realizing it. Looking at it now, it seemed pathetically small.Hefelt pathetically small. All his cleverness and bravado popped like soap bubbles, and he was left with only the truth: he was shivering, trapped in a pit, and pantsless.
“If you go back to Crisanth,” said Luc softly, “Hoff will lock you up for a decade. More, if he can think of a reason to. Not that you’d last the first ten years. The duke’s prison is a terrible place, and more men die down there than ever see the light of day again.”
“Hoff will never catch me,” scoffed Rolan.
Luc studied him for a long moment before finally nodding. “Very well. Come back with me, we’ll get you into some better clothes and put warm food on your plate. Then after a good night’s rest, you can run away again tomorrow. I might even give you a head start.”
Rolan wilted. He lowered the knife, feeling stupid and useless. Luc tossed a rope down, and Rolan climbed up and out of the miserable hole. When the Arcanist extended a hand, he took it halfheartedly. The man hauled him up, and they rode back to the house on the hill and had lunch.
Then Luc got out his shears, and Rolan sat by the fire, wrapped in a sheepskin while the Arcanist cut his hair.
- CHAPTER 9 -WAITING
That night, Luc dressed for battle.
At least that’s how it looked to Rolan. He watched, slack-jawed, as Luc buckled on his sword, his daggers, his quiver of arrows, his bow. He tucked vials of things into little leather pouches. He put a jar of truth salve in his pocket. He whirled his cloak around his shoulders and pulled the hood over his face.
“Where’s my sword?” asked Rolan. He had on new pants, cut from one of Luc’s old pairs, and a shirt that almost fit him. Luc’s stitches weren’t very good—Evaine’s were better—but Rolan had said nothing. He was just pleased he could walk without feeling a breeze in places no breeze belonged.
“You don’t get a sword,” said Luc.
“But I want one. How will I fight Cryptics? Withthis?” He held up his butter knife. The thing was useless, as he well knew, but he’d grown attached to it.
“You’re not fighting Cryptics.”
“So I’m going to watch whileyoufight them?”
“You,” said Luc, pulling open the door, “are staying here.”
“But—”
The door slammed with jarring finality, ending the conversation and the protests Rolan was still thinking up. He felt stung, which was confusing, because he didn’t actuallywantto go into the woods or fight Cryptics or have anything to do with being an Arcanist. As far as apprentices went, he figured he’d be a spectacularly lousy one if it came down to it. Which it wouldn’t. Because tomorrow, he would run away. And this time, hewouldmake it to Crisanth. He’d be running there now, if it weren’t so blasted dark.
He went to the window and watched Luc ride off into the fading twilight. The man was clearly out of his mind. He hadn’t even taken a torch.
“I hope a Cryptic eats you!” Rolan yelled.
He’d thought Luc wouldn’t hear him, but the Arcanist raised one hand in acknowledgment that hehad. Then he vanished into the gloomy shadows of the forest.
“Maa.”
With a sigh, Rolan turned to see Supper standing by the fireplace, his vacuous eyes gazing at both the door and the kitchen.
“How didyouget in here?”
Grumbling under his breath about all the ways he hoped Luc would meet a grisly end, Rolan foraged for something to eat. Witha plate piled high with salted pork, bread, and carrots, he settled into Luc’s massive armchair and feasted.
