Talen gently let the snake to the ground, and the creature slithered away toward the cover of the trees.
“That was,” said Nettle in amazement, “unexpected.”
“You were right,” said Talen. “I didn’t need to spook.”
“No,” said Nettle. “I meant you.”
What was his cousin talking about?
“You plucked the snake right out of the air.”
“So?”
“So,” said Nettle, “I came around the corner and saw Cat holding the rope and Fabbis coming at you. But before I took another step you were on him. It was . . . too fast.”
“Too fast?”
Had he always been so slow? “Maybe, at last, my speed has come upon me.”
“Yeah,” said Nettle, but Talen could see he wasn’t convinced.
“Is it impossible that Hogan’s runt suddenly got some of his old man’s growth?”
“No,” said Nettle. “But I can tell you this: Fabbis won’t see it that way.”
“What do you mean?”
“That was dreadman quick, Talen.”
“I just grabbed the snake,” he said. He’d just been lucky. Lively with alarm and fear.
Nettle said nothing, that look of astonishment still on his face, but he was right. Fabbis would twist what had happened. He would be back. About that there was no doubt. And if Fabbis ran into that group of men by the baker’s, it would be only a matter of minutes before he returned.
“We need to get out of here,” Talen said.
“Act normal,” said Nettle.
“Will you stop with the normal,” said Talen. “Get in the wagon.”
THE DIVINE
T
he severed hand of the creature lay upon a table in the center of the Mokaddian Council chamber. Almost two dozen Council members crowded about Argoth as he probed the hand. They had heard almost two hours of testimony about the hunt at the village of Plum, the taking of Barg’s family, and the battle at the fortress. It was now Argoth’s turn to relate his tale. He wondered where Hogan was. He should have been here an hour ago.
One of the fingers broke off, and Argoth flaked away small pieces of dirt and grass with his knife. “You can see,” said Argoth, “what appears to have been bone and sinew. But look.” He scraped at the finger innards with his knife.
The men crowded in. A nearsighted lord of the Harkon clan leaned over close.
Shim stood next to Argoth, his bright eyes shining in his leathern face. “It crumbles like common dirt,” Shim said. “As if it were nothing more than a child’s mud doll.”
One of the men cursed. “Who can fight dirt?”
None spoke. All knew the answer to that question. But Argoth wondered. Matiga kept the weaves of their Grove. She had the ancient crown that gave its wearer incredible might. The powers it bestowed were not just those of the flesh as were given to dreadmen. It was power from the very earth itself. Victors is what the wearers of such crowns had been called. And, though the records were sparse, it appears these victors had put armies to flight. They had toppled fortress walls. Surely, such a one could overcome this beast.
Of course, much had been lost. They knew how to quicken the crown. But could they wield it like those of old? Abilities ran in bloodlines. Some men could multiply themselves. Others who couldn’t might be able to do other things. Hogan and Ke could control some of the crown’s power. But they had been waiting to see what Talen might do. He had not yet been awakened, and so whatever gifts he might have still lay dormant. But he was full of peculiarities. Full of possibility. There was always much anticipation seeing what a new member of the Grove was capable of.
The Crab caught Argoth’s gaze. He was not looking at the hand like the other men. He was looking directly at Argoth. What was he hiding? Did he have reason to suspect Argoth as Shim had?
Finally the warlord for the Mithrosh spoke up. “And what of its bones? Are those dirt as well?”
A clamor arose outside the chamber. The men crowding around the table turned and the doors opened. In walked three dreadmen, the only three with any power left in their weaves. Between them they escorted Hogan as if he were a criminal. About his neck was a king’s collar.
Argoth’s heart dropped like a stone. Did they know about the Order? He met Hogan’s gaze, but he could read nothing there.
Shim turned to the dreadmen. “What is the meaning of this?” He did not raise his dry voice, but every face turned to