Chapter
10

Cohen

THE WOODSMAN RIDES EAST, PRESUMABLY TO gather men. We head northeast, hoping we’ll get there before the others arrive.

Like the woodsman said, ravines cut through the land, fissures divide the green hills and scattered clumps of wooded groves. The drop and rise of the landscape slows our travel, but we stick to the old and weathered roads because that’s where we’ll find a carriage.

The farther north we travel, the more I wonder if the man had merely drunk too much ale. Though I’ve been scanning the countryside for other travelers, I’ve yet to see evidence of a carriage or horses. If there really is another group of travelers out here, they could be farther west. If that’s the case, we could miss them all together.

When we start to near the denser woods, the small back road diverges. Despite the winter building in Malam, here the trees have enough limbs and leaves to block some of the afternoon sun, shading most of the dirt and gravel road. Though it’s warmer in Shaerdan than Malam, it’s chilly in the shade.

Lirra drags a cloak out of her horse’s saddlebags and pulls it over her shoulders. I haven’t said anything to her about the kiss. Not sure there’s anything to say. It was a necessity to support our ruse. Even thinking this, I feel guilty. I promised Britta she’d have all of me, and it tears me inside to know I gave that one kiss away.

We hit another hill. The horses slow their steps on the rocks and roots jutting out of the ground as we follow the overgrown road east. When we come off a rise, the forest thins and the road looks more formed.

A quarter league past the ravine, I stop Siron at some fresh ruts where the soil’s been softened by the Shaerdanian rain. A carriage passed this way recently.

I point them out to Finn and his eyes widen. He holds up a finger, indicating these tracks were made in the last day. I shoot him a look of approval.

“Why isn’t anyone talking?” Lirra’s voice is a shock in the silence.

I spin around and turn a frown on her.

“You don’t talk when you’re close to your prey,” Finn fills in, a lesson he learned from me years ago.

Lirra nods like she understands, but then keeps talking. “How close are they?”

“Close enough you shouldn’t talk,” I cut in.

She huffs out a breath. “How do you know it’s them?”

“I don’t,” I tell her. “But we’ll find out soon enough.”

She nods and sits straighter, her expression sharpening, like she’s preparing herself for a fight. I hope it doesn’t come to that. Though it might.

Lirra and Finn follow me for another quarter league, before I signal for them to stop. The tracks are fresh here, and judging by the steaming pile of horse manure, our quarry is close. We’d be best to go on foot so the sound of the horses doesn’t alert them to us.

Finn is quick to gear up, pulling a quiver over his shoulder and holding his bow. Then he pats the dagger at his waist and the one strapped to his ankle. I grimace watching him, wishing I’d said no when he asked to learn to be a bounty hunter. It’s too dangerous for my little brother. When I look at him, I don’t see the man he’s becoming, but the toddler I once saved from our pecking chickens. The gangly boy who cried on my shoulder when our pa died.

“Follow,” I mouth, gesturing to the woods that line the road. “But keep at a distance.”

Finn and Lirra run behind me as I dart through the trees, staying parallel to the road. I run for a quarter league before I pick up the eeek eeek of their carriage’s wheels and the clop of their horses’ hooves. I cut slightly east, continuing until I lope alongside them, but far enough away, hidden by the trunks and ferns and underbrush, that they won’t notice me.

Two riders on horseback flank a carriage with no visible markings to show ownership. It’s driven by a third man. Though I cannot tell how many people are inside the compartment, I can count a number of weapons on the three men. Arrows, bows, daggers, and long swords—these men are armed for a fight.

Behind the group, the sun dips, bathing the forest in a dusky haze. The carriage slows to a stop.

The men on horseback quickly move to the carriage door and dismount. Their motions seem practiced, like they've done this a few times before. The door opens, and a fourth man emerges.

My eyes nearly bulge out of my head. I’ve seen this man before.

I squint, trying to make sure the haze isn’t messing with my sight. Even though he’s not garbed in the clothing of a nobleman, there’s no doubt. It’s Lord Conklin, a Malamian with a fiefdom around the border town of Fennit.

Could it be another Spiriter identity trick? Like how Rori was able to fool anyone she passed in Shaerdan, so they thought she was Phelia?

“What’s the plan?” Finn moves beside me, his voice a speck over a whisper.

I shake my head, baffled. I need answers. “See the older man.” I point him out to Lirra and Finn. “Whatever happens, keep him alive.”

Lirra raises her brows.

“He’s a lord in Malam.”

“No way,” Finn blurts, and then smacks his hand over his mouth when he realizes he didn’t whisper.

The men are too busy pissing on the fronds around the thick tree trunks to notice us.

“Should we move in closer to see if there are any girls with them?” Finn asks.

Before I can answer, a female voice from inside the carriage cries, “Please let us go!”

Lirra meets my eye, hand on her blade. I notice she doesn’t carry a bow and arrow like Britta. If it were this easy for me to find them, I’ve no doubt that woodsman fool and the townsmen he’s managed to gather will be upon us in no time.

One of the guards yanks the door open, reaches in, and withdraws a young black-haired girl. I stare at her, my heartbeat banging in my chest with a fierce need to protect her. She cannot be older than thirteen, my sister’s age.

I watch as he jerks her around like a cloth doll. Bloody seeds, I want to kill him now. I could loose an arrow and drop him in an instant. When he backhands her and another two young faces, dirty, tear-stained, and colorless, peer out the door, I cannot watch any longer.

I lift my bow and loose an arrow. It hits him between the ribs. The man drops, and the girl falls to the side, her knees crashing into the dirt.

Only now I have the attention of the other men. A sick sack of a man has a girl in front of him, using her as a shield. Another has a sword drawn, and he’s hunkered down by the carriage. A third fellow has his bow up, arrow aimed at Finn. Right as I notice this, the man releases the arrow and it sails straight at my brother.

Panic rips through my chest. I yell Finn’s name. Move, Finn.

He leaps to the side. Thank the gods. I rush to him and shield us behind a tree. He winces. Red stains the left side of his tunic, a bloody blossom that grows with each beat of his heart.

“Finn,” I bark. “You all right?” My voice is too harsh. I thought it missed, but he’s bleeding. Gods, why is he bleeding?

“Must’ve grazed me.”

He lifts his tunic for me to see a scrape along his ribs. If he hadn’t moved, that arrow would’ve pierced him through the heart instead of taking a chunk of skin from his side. Blood drips steadily from the slice. It’ll have to be cleaned. Stitched.

I clench his tunic in a fist and let it drop. He could’ve just died. My kid brother.

“Stay back,” I tell him.

“What? No, I’m coming with you.”

I connect gazes with Lirra, who’s also hunkered behind a tree, and give her a signal before turning back to Finn. “Keep pressure on the wound. And stay low. I want you to keep out of this. Hear me?”

He shakes his head, but there’s no time to listen to his argument. I’m sure he’s disappointed, but this isn’t another learning opportunity. His life is on the line. I need to keep him safe.

Readying an arrow, I motion to Lirra and dart around the tree, headed for the next one that’ll give good coverage and bring me closer to Lord Conklin and his group of traitors.

Two arrows fly right past my head. The guy’s a quick shot, but my movements are too erratic for him to keep up.

I shoot one back at him. It misses, but it takes his attention away from Lirra, giving her a chance to get a dozen paces closer to them than I am currently. She’s half the distance to the carriage. A dozen more paces and she’ll be upon them.

Providing another distraction, I shoot two arrows into the side of the carriage, knowing it won’t go through the panel. The girls inside start screaming. The man using the black-haired girl as a shield edges back toward the carriage, while Lord Conklin stays out of sight behind the horses. My third arrow is aimed at the archer, but again it misses because his eye is trained on my movement.

He doesn’t see Lirra sneak up until her blade is thrust between his ribs. Lirra pulls her blade out, swipes it on the fallen man’s tunic, and turns toward the remaining men. I stare at her, shocked by the ease of her brutality. Fighting and survival are a part of my job. Though Britta was trained alongside me, it was always hard for her to stomach death. Even while hunting, she’d offer a prayer of thanks to any prey she took down, always mindful and grateful for the life around her. But Lirra, she’s killed men before. The effortlessness in her movements proves as much. Maybe that’s what it takes to be the Archtraitor’s daughter.

Since the remaining two men aren’t armed with a bow, I move in. Lirra’s switched blades to a long sword, holding it out at the man hiding behind the young girl. “Let the girls go, and I’ll spare your life.”

The man spits on the ground.

Thunder rocks the forest. It’s the sound of at least a half-dozen horses. The man hears it and shoves the girl forward before he darts behind the carriage. The girl stumbles over her feet and crashes into Lirra. Both girls trip back.

The man jumps into the seat and the carriage takes off. Lord Conklin must’ve entered the carriage on the other side, because he’s nowhere in sight. I watch them splatter mud as they drive away quicker than any of us can follow without our horses. I want to spit a slew of curses. How many more girls were in that carriage? What is Lord Conklin going to do with them?

Bloody seeds and stars.

Now it’s just me, Lirra, the young girl, and the pounding of hooves drawing closer.

“We have to get out of here,” I yell, rushing back to Finn’s side. With Finn down, I don’t want a standoff against half a dozen Shaerdanian men—even if they’re a local ragtag group of men. They’ll be able to see through Finn’s awful Shaerdanian lilt before he finishes saying his first word. We’re dead men if we stay here.

“What about her?” Lirra has her arm around the girl’s shoulders.

I glance back at the trees where birds are taking flight. “Bring her. Hurry.”

Lirra rushes the girl forward, and the four of us dash northward. I whistle for the horses and pray to every god that hasn’t forsaken me that the Shaerdanians won’t follow our tracks. That they’ll keep on the carriage trail leading east. We’re two Malamian men with two Shaerdanian girls. No matter what the girls say on our behalf, no kinsman with his blood up would believe their story.

Finn winces with each jostle from the horse, and the young girl silently sobs as we stay on a due east course, hoping like hell we’re riding toward freedom.