toward the pursuing mercenaries.
Nearby, Tag stopped, noticing what she had. He hustled over to Tvlakv, and the two started arguing softly.
“Tradesman Tvlakv”—Shallan refused to call him “Trademaster,” as would be his proper title as a full merchant—“I would hear your discussion.”
“Of course, Brightness, of course.” He waddled over, wringing his hands. “You have seen the smoke ahead. We have entered a corridor running between the Shattered Plains and the Shallow Crypts and its sister villages. There is more traffic here than in other parts of the Frostlands, you see. So it is not unexpected that we should encounter others . . .”
“Those ahead?”
“Another caravan, if we are lucky.”
And if we’re unlucky . . . She didn’t need to ask. It would mean more deserters or bandits.
“We can avoid them,” Tvlakv said. “Only a large group would dare make smoke for midday meals, as it is an invitation—or a warning. The small caravans, like ourselves, do not risk it.”
“If it’s a large caravan,” Tag said, rubbing his brow with a thick finger, “they’ll have guards. Good protection.” He looked southward.
“Yes,” Tvlakv said. “But we could also be placing ourselves between two enemies. Danger on all sides . . .”
“Those behind will catch us, Tvlakv,” Shallan said.
“I—”
“A man hunting game will return with a mink if there are no telm to be found,” she said. “Those deserters have to kill to survive out here. Didn’t you say there was probably going to be a highstorm tonight?”
“Yes,” Tvlakv said, reluctant. “Two hours after sunset, if the list I bought is correct.”
“I don’t know how bandits normally weather the storms,” Shallan said, “but they’ve obviously committed to chasing us down. I’d bet they plan to use the wagons as shelter after killing us. They’re not going to let us go.”
“Perhaps,” Tvlakv said. “Yes, perhaps. But Brightness, if we see that second column of smoke ahead, so might the deserters. . . .”
“Yeah,” Tag said, nodding, as if he’d only just realized it. “We cut east. The killers might go after the group ahead.”
“We let them attack someone else instead of us?” Shallan said, folding her arms.
“What else would you expect us to do, Brightness?” Tvlakv said, exasperated. “We are small cremlings, you see. Our only choice is to keep away from larger creatures and hope for them to hunt one another.”
Shallan narrowed her eyes, inspecting that small column of smoke ahead. Was it her eyes, or was it growing thicker? She looked backward. Actually, the columns looked to be about the same size.
They won’t hunt prey their own size, Shallan thought. They left the army, ran away. They’re cowards.
Nearby, she could see Bluth looking backward as well, watching that smoke with an expression she couldn’t read. Disgust? Longing? Fear? No spren to give her a clue.
Cowards, she thought again, or just men disillusioned? Rocks who started rolling down a hillside, only to start going so quickly they don’t know how to stop?
It didn’t matter. Those rocks would crush Shallan and the others, if given the chance. Cutting eastward wouldn’t work. The deserters would take the easy kill—slow-moving wagons—instead of the potentially harder kill straight ahead.
“We make for the second column of smoke,” Shallan said, sitting down.
Tvlakv looked at her. “You don’t get to—” He broke off as she met his eyes.
“You . . .” Tvlakv said, licking his lips. “You won’t get . . . to the Shattered Plains as quickly, Brightness, if we get tied up with a larger caravan, you see. It could be bad.”
“I will deal with that if the problem arises, tradesman Tvlakv.”
“Those ahead will keep moving,” Tvlakv warned. “We may arrive at that camp and find them gone.”
“In which case,” Shallan said, “they will either be moving toward the Shattered Plains or coming this way, along the corridor toward the port cities. We will intersect them eventually one way or another.”
Tvlakv sighed, then nodded, calling to Tag to hurry.
Shallan sat down, feeling a thrill. Bluth returned and took his seat, then shoved a few wizened roots in her direction. Lunch, apparently. Shortly, the wagons began rolling northward, Shallan’s wagon falling into place third in line this time.
Shallan settled into her seat for the trip—they were hours away from that second group, even if they did manage to catch up to it. To keep from worrying, she finished her sketches of the landscape. She then turned to idle sketches, simply letting her pencil go where it willed.
She drew skyeels dancing in the air. She drew the docks of Kharbranth. She