power. ‘Like you!’ He levelled a finger at her. ‘You wanted to use me! All to get some stupid book!’
‘It is no mere book, Lorekeeper,’ she said, fumbling for her garment. ‘It has knowledge, it has darkness, it has—’
‘Power,’ he finished for her. ‘And so do I.’ He spoke an echoing word and his finger burst with electricity. ‘Get out of here.’
‘It is also to save you,’ she protested, backing away. ‘The darkness will come after you now that you have the tome! I can protect it! I can protect you, Lorekeeper.’
He roared another word that thundered off the sky, punctuated by a sudden crack of lightning leaping from his digit. She shrieked and collapsed. Only when the echo of thunder passed did she look up at him, his finger angled high and smoking.
‘My name,’ he said, ‘is Dreadaeleon.’
The boy could not recall in what order it happened: his threats, her wailed excuses and pleas, his collapsing, her fleeing into the water to vanish into the sea. He could only sit and stare out over the waves as a tear trickled down his cheek and into his mouth, leaving him with the fading taste of salt.
Thirty-Two
AN UNCARING WING
Denaos poised the hatchet over the wooden block, closed one eye and swung. It split smoothly down the centre, each half flying off to join the two piles of similar semicircular shapes. He smiled at his work momentarily, admiring the even cleave, before sinking the tool into the tree stump that served as a chopping block.
‘Your turn,’ he said.
Lenk looked up through a sweat-stained face, incredulous.
‘What?’ He looked down at the piles, his piles, with Denaos’s addition lying smugly on top like fruits on a dessert. ‘You only chopped one?’
‘I chopped one exquisitely,’ the rogue corrected. ‘If I wanted to beat you in a contest, I could hack circles around you, throwing off so many lacklustre splinters like you did.’ He plucked up his product and one of Lenk’s, holding his up. ‘Look at this: a nice, delicate blow, revealing every tender secret of the wood. Now look at yours. Where’s the heart?’
Lenk mopped his brow, looked down at the piles, then looked back up at his companion.
‘It’s wood.’
‘A true artist never makes excuses.’ The rogue added an insulting sashay to his walk as he turned away from Lenk. ‘Anyway, you’re the one who wanted work ethic and talk. It’s only fair that I get laziness and listening.’ He pulled himself up onto a low-hanging tree branch and lay down. ‘So, go ahead.’
‘Fine,’ the young man said, grunting as he hefted the hatchet and placed a fresh block of wood onto the stump. ‘I’m having some trouble with—’
‘Oh, wait, we’re going to talk about you?’
‘Well . . . yeah.’
‘Why can’t we ever talk about me for once?’ the rogue muttered, settling himself further into his boughy sling. ‘Everyone comes to me with their problems. Why can’t I ever get the same treatment?’
‘Because all I know about you is that you’re a coward, a lech, a lush, a brigand, a bigot and a piece of offal masquerading as a man,’ Lenk snarled, bringing the hatchet down in a vicious chop. ‘Did I miss anything?’
‘Yes,’ the rogue replied, ‘I also play the lute.’
‘Fine, then. We’ll talk about you.’ Lenk set a new piece of wood up, glancing at his companion. ‘You never told me what you did before becoming an adventurer. Are you married?’
Denaos sat up at that, lips pursing, regarding Lenk through narrowed eyes.
‘Any children?’ Lenk asked.
‘You know, I think I am in the mood to talk about you.’ With noticeable stiffness, the rogue settled back into his tree branch. ‘So, do go on.’
‘Um . . . all right, then.’ Lenk brought the axe down again. ‘I’m having some difficulty understanding women.’
‘Ah, yes.’ Denaos scratched his chin. ‘The eternal question on two legs that only gets more annoying with every passing thought.’ His hand drifted lower, scratched something else. ‘Fortunately for you, I’m something of an expert on the subject.’
‘Yeah?’
‘No doubt,’ the rogue replied. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘I suppose . . .’ Lenk’s hum hovered in the air as he leaned on the hatchet’s handle, staring contemplatively out at the forest’s greenery. ‘Why?’
‘The best place to start,’ Denaos said, nodding. ‘Well, to understand women, you must first understand their place in the world. And to that end, you must first know how they came to occupy this world alongside us.’
‘How?’
‘The theories vary from faith to faith, but here’s how it was explained