Page 15

Wind rustled. Taller trees groaned, and somewhere an owl hooted so loudly Eavus had to clench his teeth not to shout at it to shut up. His eyes darted between the shadows, but more than a few feet ahead was pure black. Leaves crackled off his right ear, but that was easy to dismiss—squirrels or other rodents. They always sounded a hundred times their size. Predators, on the other hand—They were the ones that ran silent.

Eavus felt Revni appear next to him, and was annoyed at his flush of gratitude. She held her wrists up, an invitation to untie her, but Eavus pretended he didn’t notice. He’d fallen for that enough times already. She gave something like a shrug and turned her back. Instinctually, Eavus did the same, both of them watching the separate sides of the forest, and for a moment he was back in camp, on night watch with Costae or Maener, and he felt right in his skin.

The forest went quiet. Eavus’ senses tingled and Revni tensed behind him. She gave his skirt a small tug. Together, slowly, they shifted positions so he could see whatever Revni had noticed.

EIGHT

Eavus strained his eyes. It could be nothing. A glint of water on a leaf. A fox. Eavus adjusted his stance, lifting his sword to paratus, elbow high and point forward. It felt ridiculous and awkward, his arm tiring too quickly, but he wasn’t used to taking a leading stance. He wasn’t used to holding a sword at all. The muscles of his cheek spasmed, but he held tight.

The trees swayed and groaned again. Eavus almost jumped when a raindrop hit him on the nose, but he stayed. His arm began to throb, and he flexed his shoulder, tightened his forearm and released, little tricks to stem off the pain. More rain began to patter down, and slowly, the sounds of the night returned. Whatever he thought he’d seen retreated, or was never there at all, and Eavus gingerly lowered his elbow, relishing in the rush of blood to his prickling limb.

“Get some sleep.”

The heat at his back disappeared. Eavus blinked away the drops clinging to his eyelashes, switched the sword to his left hand to shake out his right, and then reset himself, standing at the ready.

Gods, he hated this country.

But the next morning—after a long and horrible night, too little sleep and too much rain—Eavus felt rather inspired. He’d woken at dawn with a start. He’d tied the girl to a tree before he attempted a few hours’ rest, but she was thankfully still there, furious, bearing fresh raw wounds from where she’d clearly tried to escape her knots. But she murmured something that sounded like prayers, and that made him think of the temple. Of course! After the skirmish, his cohort would have surely continued on to the temple they’d been charged with scouting. All he had to do was find that. And finding a big building high on a cliff right on the coast seemed far easier than meandering about the woods hoping to stumble onto soldiers.

He headed east, feeling heartened by the reappearance of those loose and watery fields, even moreso by the rocky land tilting upward, sending a new burn to his thighs. He thought he saw the tip of a building in the distance. The landscape had shifted to sandy scrub as they ascended, and when they came upon roughly-placed stones at the steepest part—clearly a man-made path—Eavus’ eagerness spurred him faster. The familiar odor wafting towards them gave him pause, but only barely. It was entirely possible that heading towards the smell of death wasn’t the wisest, but on the other hand, it often meant Aleteria had been there.

The land beside them dropped to a sharp edge. Eavus shortened Revni’s lead. Low, hardy bushes that could take the salt-laden winds gave way to squat, crooked trees that leaned precariously over the cliffs, like they were staring over the edge to see who had jumped.

Eavus followed the sound of a shovel scratching earth, but his heart sank as he reached the top.

It was only one man, in a brown dress. He was burying a body.

Eavus bit back his frustration. If Eavus’ cohort was here, there’d be activity. Soldiers helping, for one, commanders shouting orders, men lounging or foraging or setting up a barricade. It had taken them more than half the day to get here, and all for nothing.

“Run into trouble?” Eavus called.

The man leaned on his shovel while he watched their approach. His beard grew in odd patches on his face, leaving gaps that made it look poorly shaved. Eavus had heard of these monks, in their cheap cloth with their new religion from the east, but this was the first time he’d met one. He eyed Revni’s tied wrists and the sword strapped to Eavus’ side.

“I didn’t run into it, no,” he replied. He spoke Aleterian with an accent. “It seems to have run into me.”

The complex at the top of the hill was a simple series of low round huts, with one unassuming stone building in the center, but the whole place looked like it had been in some sort of battle—overturned barrels and carts, a smallish garden that looked to have been roughly stripped. One of the little buildings had no roof and was burnt black. A prickle ran down Eavus’ spine, but he ignored it temporarily. The man didn’t look like he’d been in a fight—or capable of one, frankly— and they needed food, and more importantly, water. They were too close to coast and marshes to trust ponds or fens. Too salty, too filthy. Bad water was worse than none. But he had no money and nothing to trade except his strength. Answers could wait.

Eavus gestured. “Let me help. I’m used to digging.”

The monk handed Eavus the shovel without protest. Revni hadn’t fought him all day, so Eavus released her. She immediately went to a boulder in the shade, closing her eyes and tilting her face to the sea. He felt a momentary pang on her behalf—he knew how long the effects of being knocked unconscious could linger—but it disappeared quickly as the shovel clanged against rock. This soil was impossible. He could hear the waves crashing far below, like they were taunting him. The scrape and chuff of digging drowned it out.

Finally, when he’d gotten a few feet down, Eavus took a break. His throat was so dry it was making his lungs sore. Lightheadedness kept trying to overtake him, and he needed to make a plan. Even the effort to force out words felt like another drag of the shovel over grit.

“What happened here?” Eavus had his suspicions, but his chest tightened when the man casually waved a hand.

“Your friends,” he confirmed amiably. “Four days ago. Well, the crops were four days. The murder of my brother was the day before yesterday. But it took time to cut him down.”

Four days? So this couldn’t be the work of his own cohort. It must have been the scouting party—the one they had been following. He tried to remember which division that had been. Did he know anybody? Someone that could vouch for Eavus’ character? Strolling into some other commander’s camp with a sword in his hand, even with a hostage in the other, was a little more risk than Eavus preferred. But then the rest of what the monk had said soaked in.

“This man was your brother?”

The dead man was dressed in the same brown roughspun, but had no other resemblance. He was round, soft, dark-skinned.

The monk tilted his head. “Of a sort.”

Eavus’ vision swam, and a bead of sweat rolled down and stung his eye. His best case scenario had been to find his regiment camped here. He hadn’t really thought past that, frankly, other than the vagueness of food and information. But if there was justice to be doled out, he was a soldier of Aleteria, and he would do his duty, no matter how exhausting the prospect sounded. His wounds throbbed.

“What were his crimes?”