we have no tokens. Anybody we came across would spot us in a minute.” Talen pointed to the road at the far end of the crossroads. “We’re going to the glass master’s.” He was a powerful man with many men in his employ.
Talen would not have considered this, but Uncle Argoth had recommended Talen to a number of respectable Mokaddian families, including Bartem the glass master. And the glass master had expressed some interest should Talen get his Shoka clan wrist.
Uncle Argoth had once told Talen that his mother’s Shoka blood would eventually overpower the Koramite blood he’d gotten from Da. This, of course, had incited Da, but then that’s why Uncle Argoth had said it in the first place. The two of them liked to dig each other as much as he and Nettle did. But lately, Da had come around to Uncle Argoth’s arguments that what Koramites needed was some binding to the Clans. Talen was almost too old to apprentice himself out, but there were other ways Uncle Argoth might find a place for him among the Shoka. It wouldn’t be a powerful position, but it would be better than being an unconnected Koramite.
Just at that moment, a Shoka boy, holding a throwing stick in one hand and two dead ducks in the other, walked from one of the roads into the clearing.
“Lords,” said Talen. All they needed was someone to see them.
“Keep calm,” said Nettle and hailed the boy.
When the boy came close, he said, “There’s men looking for you. Hunters.” The boy was short for his age, but wide.
“Oh?”
The boy looked at Nettle’s ear, but did not remark upon it. “A group of about ten Fir-Noy.” He pointed up one of the roads. “They accosted me. Asked me what I’d seen.”
“What did you tell them?”
“I told them I hadn’t seen nothing but ducks.”
“You keep telling them that,” said Nettle.
“They accused you of Slethery, but I spoke up, told them Captain Argoth was worth all ten of them.”
The boy had done no such thing, Talen thought. What’s more: he was a risk. What were they going to do with him?
“Fir-Noy rot,” said Nettle and spat. “Always blaming their troubles on someone else. This whole Sleth madness started in one of their own villages. Not ours.”
“Aye,” said the boy. “But we’ll catch them. My da and I, we’ve got ourselves half a dozen traps set in the woods.”
“You’re a brave one,” said Nettle, “walking out here on your own.”
The boy puffed up a bit.
“If enough Shoka take the initiative like you and your da,” Nettle said, “we’ll have the Sleth for sure. And if any other Fir-Noy come by, you’ve seen nothing but ducks.”
“Aye,” said the boy and raised the end of his throwing stick to the side of his nose.
Nettle flicked the reins and directed Iron Boy toward the glass master’s road.
Talen considered his cousin: he’d handled that situation well. Of course, the boy was still a risk.
When the boy was out of earshot, Nettle said, “I hope your glass master is willing.”
“Of course, he’ll be willing. He trusts your father. Your father trusts me.”
Nettle nodded. “Well, then let’s get out of here before some Fir-Noy finds us and prevents us from testing your theory.”
The road to the glass master’s was broad, but it wasn’t straight, and they were constantly worrying they’d turn a bend and run into some vigilante patrol, but they never did. When they came to the part of the road that crested a hill and gave them a view of the glass master’s vale, Talen heaved a sigh of relief: there were no Fir-Noy to be seen. Just the fields, the main buildings, and the glasshouse belching smoke out of three of its five chimneys.
Talen had walked the whole way. Now he told Nettle to pull up. He drank deeply from the barrel, then dumped the rest over his head. He was more thirsty than ever. And the itch in his legs had grown.
He hadn’t worked anything out of his system. In fact, he wondered if there had been anything in his system to begin with.
“You know the stories of peopled bewitched to dance until they starved,” Talen asked, “until their very bones turned to dust? Do you think it’s possible to curse someone like that?”
“So now our hatchling wasn’t just a post when she kissed you?” asked Nettle.
“She was a post,” said Talen. “It’s just my legs have put me to thinking what could have happened in the night.”