Pyra, and was probably a single-room hunting cottage or the dwelling of some old hermit, tucked away here in the middle of nowhere.
They’d had two orders from Captain Belden when they’d left camp that morning. Return before sundown, and don’t be seen. As empire soldiers, they were unwelcome in Pyra, and Sev didn’t think their raider costumes would hold up under close inspection. And besides, it wasn’t like the locals would welcome raiders, either.
There was a commotion somewhere up the line, and it seemed they were moving out once more. Sev expected they were diverting around the clearing in case anybody was inside the cabin. It looked empty, but not abandoned. Firewood was stacked against the back wall, the pathway was cleared of overgrown grass and weeds, and ghostly wisps of smoke slipped from its chimney.
“Boy!” came a sharp voice, drawing Sev back to his immediate surroundings. Up ahead, Ott was making his way down the convoy. Short and round and puffing from exertion, he reminded Sev of the Fool from one of the Arborian Comedies. Even his patchwork tunic added to the effect; all he needed was a pointed hat and bells on his shoes. Ott’s usually sallow skin was ruddy with splotchy sunburns, and sweat trickled down his temples from his thinning hair.
“Sir,” Sev said, straightening his spine when Ott reached him and standing at attention. He made sure he moved slowly—never too quick of mind or foot. That kind of thing will get you noticed, after all, and that was the last thing Sev wanted. Most of the other soldiers thought Sev was as dull as an unsharpened blade, and Sev did his best to encourage that assessment. He was just good enough at his work to go unnoticed and just bad enough that they didn’t ask too much of him.
“Stay here,” Ott said, actually pointing to the ground, as if Sev could possibly misunderstand the instructions. “The animals will move on, but you’re gonna be our eyes,” he added, pointing to his own with two fat fingers. “Make sure no one sneaks up on us. Me and Jotham are checkin’ things out.”
Ott hitched up his trousers, as if preparing for the real work to begin. Jotham was his usual partner in crime—in this case, literally—and stood just behind Ott as the line of llamas started to move past them.
Sev knew what “checkin’ things out” meant. The empire might have forgiven their felonies so they could serve in the military, but Jotham and Ott were career criminals. They didn’t break the law to survive. They did it because they enjoyed it—and because it allowed them to fill their purses above and beyond a soldier’s meager salary. They were “innocent” men now, their criminal records expunged and their previous misdeeds forgotten. There were dozens like them in the military, and as long as they didn’t steal from their commanding officers and fellow soldiers, no one seemed to care what they did. Jotham and Ott often chose a green soldier like Sev to act as a lookout or an accomplice because they thought young, untried soldiers were too stupid to understand what they were doing.
Sev enjoyed a good theft as much as any poor street rat, but it was one thing to cut a rich merchant’s purse and quite another to steal from a run-down cottage with broken shutters. These weren’t the kind of people who had excess anything.
And what if the cabin wasn’t empty, as they expected?
Sev knew what.
Violence.
“You, mageslave,” Ott barked, directing his words at the nearest bondservant—the one who’d seen Sev’s heel skid through llama dung. The term “mageslave” was a disrespectful slur, and the sound of it made Sev cringe. He glanced at the bondservant, but the boy didn’t react to the insult—save for a tightening in his shoulders. “Bring up the rear. I don’t want any stragglers.”
Jotham joined Ott, and the two men disappeared through the trees.
Sev hesitated, looking at the bondservant again. “Sorry about him,” he muttered.
“Excuse me?” the bondservant said. Sev had never heard him speak before; his voice was a low rumble, as if it came from deep inside his chest.
“It’s just . . . They shouldn’t use that word.”
The bondservant stared at Sev for several silent heartbeats, as if trying to determine the tone of Sev’s apology—if it was mocking or genuine. Most soldiers didn’t bother speaking to bondservants, and certainly none of them would dream of saying sorry.
At last the bondservant snorted, almost in disbelief, chin falling to his