at the bodies slowly twisting. A trio of magpies stood on the shoulders of one carcass that had a rope punched through its ribs. They jostled one another, flapped about, and pecked at the old flesh on the head.
He knew this place, but the name slipped away.
Hunger walked to the road. The scent lay here like a river. It took him a few moments walking up and back to discover the direction the boy had traveled.
He tried to guess how far he was behind. It was not far. Perhaps no more than an hour.
The smell of horses and men drew his attention. Hunger looked up the road. He couldn’t see them, but he could see the haze of dust they kicked up. The riders were coming fast.
He did not want to draw attention, did not want to delay reaching the boy, so he slipped off the trail and squatted behind a thick clump of brush.
The riders soon crested the hill. Six of them wearing Shoka colors, two wearing Fir-Noy. He watched them gallop by, watched them fade in the distance.
Hunger stepped out of his hiding place and suddenly knew where he was: this was Gallow’s Grove. A piece of the map in his mind locked into place. He knew where this road led. It led back to the hills where the boy was from.
Hunger checked the road once more in both directions and then began to lope after his prey.
THE GLASS MASTER’S DAUGHTERS
W
hen they came to the crossroads, Talen decided he’d jogged far enough. His legs didn’t feel tired. But Talen’s thirst had steadily grown since the run-in with the riders and it felt like the back of his throat was going to cleave to the front.
He dipped the water ladle into the small barrel lashed to the side of the wagon and drank. He’d drawn this fresh from the well this morning. It was warm and clean and tasted of the oak barrel, but it did not quench his thirst. He took another drink, then a third.
This was an unnatural thirst. “That baker should be hung,” he said. “These come-backs are killing me.”
Nettle’s ear had stopped bleeding, but didn’t look any less horrible. He gave Talen a look that said they both knew this wasn’t come-backs. “I’m worried about the Fir-Noy,” said Nettle. “If Shoka were looking for us then you know the Fir-Noy are. They’ve probably sent riders to search the roads from Whitecliff to your farmstead.”
“Fabbis,” Talen said with disgust. He pointed at the crossroads. “So which path do we risk?”
The crossroads sat at the juncture of five roads. It was a large oval that often was the place for gatherings or a small market. But no matter what was going on, there was usually a Shoka tinsmith here. His rat dog would lie in the shade under the wagon while he sat with his tin goods and tools under a blue awning that folded out of the side. Today there was nothing here but grasshoppers and the rutted and dry roads stretching out from the place like spidery fingers.
“Why risk any of them?” asked Nettle. “We should leave the wagon and set out on foot through the woods.”
“That’s reasonable,” said Talen. “Except the woods are most likely already full of Sleth hunters who have set a multitude of snares and traps. And I’m not leaving Iron Boy tied to a post, which means we’ll have him clomping along with us. I’d dare say the woods are more dangerous than the roads. Besides, it makes us look guilty.”
“You,” said Nettle.
“Huh?” asked Talen.
“You’re the one who will look guilty. I’m just along for the ride.”
“Thanks,” said Talen, “you’re always such a big support.”
Nettle sighed with exaggerated humility. “I suppose I am. Especially when I’ve been promised a throttling.”
Talen waved Nettle off. “Look, I’ve got a better idea—what we need is an escort.”
“An escort?” Nettle asked. He looked at Talen as if he’d just sprouted a cabbage out his ear. He motioned at the empty field. “Who are you going to get? Grasshoppers?”
“If we were close to your home, we’d get a number of your father’s men to go with us. But we’re not. So we get someone who is a friend of your father’s.”
“And who would that be? I say we go through the woods. If we run into anyone, we tell them we were hunting Sleth. We just don’t tell them we’ve found them already.”
“We don’t have any black cloth for armbands. And even if we did,