Servant: The Dark God Book One (Volume 1) (26 page)

23

Scent

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 week-long 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 a start on him, but that shouldn’t prevent him from catching up.

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, turned and looked back. His expression of curiosity turned to horror.

Hunger paused. He could smell them, taste them 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 and tasted 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 and crossed the road. Behind him the dog came to the edge of the brush, barking.

Up on the road, 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 receding behind him.

24

Trees

AFTER GOING ROUND one corner and losing sight of the men, Talen hid himself in the wagon bed, hoping when the men caught sight of them again, they would think Talen had jumped out and fled on foot and would stop following. But they didn’t fall for the ruse.

“They’re gaining on us,” Nettle said.

“I’m jumping out round that next bend,” said Talen. “You continue on.”

“They’re too close; you should have done it for real earlier.”

“I’m not going to be here when they catch us.”

“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 at the city gate this morning, batting horseflies away from my splendid nakedness.”

“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 farting 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. They were almost to the bend, and 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 sweet almond small cakes. 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 this 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 the trees and out of the line of sight of the men.

Nettle reined in Iron Boy to slow the wagon.

Talen rose to his feet.

“You’re not going to have time to find cover.”

It was true 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 it. 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 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 full gallop.

“They’re upon us!” hissed Nettle. “Sit down!”

Talen focused on the branch. “Tell them I struck out on foot after leaving the gate.” Then he gauged the distance and marked the spot where he should jump.

The galloping sounded like it was 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.

A thrill washed through him. He’d actually done it! Then he reached up with his other hand and swung over.

He looked down and realized it was impossible he’d just made that jump. The distance between him and the ground yawned below. Lords, a fall at this height would break his leg. Such a leap—he wanted to whoop!

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, 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 ride past. They pulled their horses up and around Nettle and commanded him to stop.

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 he had after we entered the woods past the grove.”

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. Saw him crawl into the bed.”

“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.”

25

A Shortness of Breath

THE MEN BELOW Talen fanned out, their boots crunching on the leaves. One man called out to the others telling them to look for spoor in the leaves. Another told Talen to reveal himself or face harsher consequences.

He pressed himself further into the rough bark of the elm. He could not see any of them at first. Then one man with a black and gold checkered scarf tied about his bald head walked into view in front and below him.

The man held a short sword out in front of him. If he turned around and looked up, he’d see Talen as clearly as a pig at a party. And there was nowhere Talen could go. If he moved, if he scuffed one bit of bark to fall below, someone was sure to see.

Lords, this had been a bad idea. Talen thought of his experience with Ke in the tree back home just the day before. You couldn’t escape someone in a tree. Why had he jumped up here?

The man with the gold-checkered scarf turned round, scanning the brush around him.

If they saw him, what would he do? Not climb higher. He’d tried that with Ke. He’d have to go lower. Or, like a squirrel, he could run along the limb of one tree to another until he had put enough distance between him and his pursuers to drop to the ground and run like a madman.

The man turned his back on Talen, squatted and examined the forest floor more closely. Then he looked up at the trees in front of him. Others moved farther into the trees, but the man with the checkered scarf began to turn about and scan the trees around him.

Talen couldn’t spring to another limb of this tree. It would rustle the leaves. But neither could he simply stand here and wait for the man to spot him.

He looked about for any escape. To his left he saw a small stub sticking out from the trunk. It was barely enough to stand on. If he could use that, if it didn’t break under his weight . . .

The man continued to turn.

Talen quickly stepped to the stub.

It held, and he gripped the rough elm bark to steady himself.

The move hadn’t taken him totally from the man’s view, but Talen couldn’t go around to the other side of the tree because that was in full view of the road. He looked up. The next branch was too fat to grab onto, and far too high above him anyway.

Despite Talen’s fear or maybe because of it, his limbs felt miraculously full of energy. His legs felt as if they carried nothing, as if his entire body weighed no more than a feather.

He could make that leap to the next branch above him. He could leap and hang there if he had to. His arms felt that strong.

The man scanned the tree next to Talen’s from trunk to crown. One more turn and he’d spot Talen.

Standing on the branch stub, Talen coiled himself as best he could.

The man finished the tree he was looking at and began to turn.

Talen sprang.

The power in his legs was immense, but it wasn’t enough.

Perhaps the perch had been too small. Or perhaps it had twisted just a bit at the last moment. Whatever the cause, he didn’t make the branch. Didn’t come close.

He reached out for the trunk of the giant old elm, his fingers spread wide, reached out with toes and knees, reached out and grasped it in a bear hug. He clung to the rough bark with all his strength.

He expected to fall, to dash his worthless brains on the ground below, but he didn’t. His fingers, like his arms and legs, were full of life, and he clung to the trunk like some great, four-legged insect.

It was odd. He had to breathe like he was straining under a great weight, but it did not feel like a great weight. It felt easy and natural.

He looked down. While he hadn’t made the branch he was aiming for, he was high enough to be covered by a large block of leaves.

Lightheadedness washed over him. He was panting. Hyperventilating. But he couldn’t stop. He felt dizzy. The world below began to spin.

He was going to lose his grip.

Talen closed his eyes. The fat branch above was not so far away. If he could get to it and rest, he was sure the lightheadedness would pass.

Talen gripped the tree with his arms and legs and shimmied up. He found it easy as climbing a ladder. In moments, with barely a scrape of sound, he reached the branch. With a final move, he pulled himself on top of the branch and straddled it. He looked down and couldn’t believe his height, nor could he see a way back down.

He looked about, trying to catch his breath. But the breath wouldn’t come. He was panting, straining, laboring for air. He was suffocating.

The edges of his vision began to blur.

Talen struggled for another breath, but he couldn’t get enough air.

He couldn’t breathe!

And then his vision narrowed and the last thing he thought was that he’d better collapse onto this branch squarely because a fall from this height would surely kill him.