None of these three looked to be much older than Talen. One of the bowmen and the young one with a short spear stepped into the woods on the far side of the road. The one who had spoken walked five paces in on Talen’s side. Not straight in front of Talen, but at a slight diagonal from where he and Legs stood. He stopped at the trunk of a fallen pine, knocked off the nub of a branch, then sat himself down.

He was close enough that Talen could have pinged him in the head if he were the target of a muskmelon seed-spitting contest.

Talen carefully took one step back and a twig popped underneath him. He froze.

The Shoka on the pine log turned his head slightly as if trying to listen.

By the Goat King’s hairy arse, Talen thought. He’s going to turn, and I’ve got my bow in the wrong hand.

37

Talen held still. The seconds stretched into a minute, maybe two. Then the Shoka on the pine turned his attention back to the road.

Talen didn’t dare take another step. He didn’t even dare switch his bow to the other hand. Movement drew the eye. And even though it was yet dark, if he moved too quickly the two across the way would see him. He knew that because he could see them even now.

But he and Legs had to move. Right now, there was still enough darkness in the woods to obscure them. However, in a half an hour the morning would lighten most of the shadows and they would be standing there as plain as day for anyone who just happened to take a gander in their direction.

Slowly, he couldn’t move faster than a snail, Talen reached back with one bare foot to feel the forest floor for a likely spot. He moved a twig aside with his toe and transferred his weight. He turned his head downwards so his voice wouldn’t carry. He whispered one word for every few heartbeats. “Slow,” he said. “Slow.”

Legs turned his head ever so slightly to hear him better.

“Feel. Your. Way. Back,” he said. “Slow. Pause. Slow.”

Legs reached back with his bare foot, found a spot. They moved in miniscule increments. Stopping, moving an inch, stopping, moving again.

A squirrel chittered off to Talen’s right.

Sweat ran down his back.

He moved aside dry leaves with his toes. A mosquito buzzed him. It landed on his cheek, a large smudge at the bottom of his vision. He moved an inch. Stopped. Moved another. He felt the pinprick. He continued to move. Pause. Move. The bug buzzed away with its stolen treasure.

This was taking too long. The morning light was coming too fast. He could see the two Shoka on the other side of the road well enough to make out the colored bands on their arrows. Talen glanced out of the side of his eye. At this pace they weren’t going to make it.

The hoofbeats of a galloping horse sounded along the road. The Shoka stood. Moved forward to the edge of the tree line and looked up the road.

“Slowly,” Talen said.

In moments, Talen spotted the rider through the trunks of the trees. He rode a tan horse. The three Shoka stepped out onto the road, bows and spears pointed at the horseman. The man brought his horse to halt. It was another Shoka, wearing the green-patterned sash of that clan.

“Hoy,” the man said.

The three Shoka must have recognized him, for they lowered their weapons.

“Move,” Talen whispered. He took another step, then another.

“Spread the word,” the horseman said. “The hatchlings have been spotted. Prunes saw them with his own eyes.”

“Where?” one of the Shoka asked.

The tan horse pulled on the reins, trying to get its head. “At the farm of Hogan the Koramite.”

Wonderful, Talen thought. Just wonderful. He knew Prunes. The man had been one of those the bailiff had brought with him to search the farm. Which meant the bailiff must have posted a watch.

They should have thought of that. They should have scouted the woods. For those Fir-Noy armsmen, if for nothing else.

There was an enormous beech with a trunk a few feet in diameter only a few paces away. If they could get behind that, it would hide them. “To your left,” Talen whispered.

“There’s worse,” the rider said. “That grass monster from Whitecliff was with them. It killed Gid. Twisted him up like a rag. The bailiff’s calling a full muster. Half a family’s men to stand their watches, the other half are needed in Stag Home.”

“There’s another nine men down the trail,” one of the Shoka said. “We’ve got dogs.”

“Bring them or keep them with you. We’ve already sent out for five teams of hounds to follow trails in and out of that place. Now, out of my way. I’m off to Lord Shim.”

The rider urged his mount forward. The three Shoka stepped aside to let him through.

Talen and Legs were almost to the beech. One more step.

The rider thundered away.

One of the bowmen turned and sprinted back down the path he’d first arrived on, probably to spread the word to those nine other men.

Talen took the last step and brought Legs with him.

He put his back flat up against the trunk and held his breath. He shifted just a bit to make sure both of them were completely behind the tree. Legs stood up against him, his hair bushing Talen’s chin.

Dogs, Talen thought. Not only did he have to escape with a blind boy in tow, but now he had to deal with dogs.

Before noon today everyone in Talen’s family would be famous. And the bailiff wouldn’t give them an easy pass this time. They’d done more than make a fool of him. They’d stabbed him in the back. No, there would be no easy pass. The bailiff would come with those ice-cold eyes and there would be no deliverance.

Talen thought of Da in the hands of the Mokaddian Council. This news was not going to help him there.

Resentment began to build in Talen again. If only Legs and that Sugar girl hadn’t shown up. Why couldn’t they have gone to some other member of this Sleth nest? Why couldn’t Da have turned them away?

He couldn’t because he wouldn’t. That was Da. And even if he had, sooner or later something would have happened. You can’t sow deceit and not expect to eventually reap its bitter fruit. But all that didn’t matter anyway-assigning blame wouldn’t get him out of this mess.

They had to get to the Creek Widow’s. They had to get there quick. Talen counted to six hundred. His heart beat like a drum in his ears. He measured his breaths.

The squirrel they’d heard earlier chittered again in its tree.

Slowly, Talen turned around so he was facing the beech. Then he leaned ever so slowly until he could just peer around the side of the smooth trunk.

Both of the remaining two Shoka were in the woods on this side of the road. They were crouched over, slowly moving forward, weapons at the ready. The bowman carefully stepped over the fallen pine where the third Shoka had been sitting. They were listening, watching the woods.

Talen pulled back.

By all that was holy! They must have caught something of his and Legs’s last quick move to the beech. But they obviously hadn’t seen the movement clearly enough, or they would have been focused on the exact tree.

Up ahead was a line of clumped-up shorter pines and growth. If they could get behind that greenery, they’d be hidden. Talen took Legs’s hand. “Run,” he said.

They ran, but it was clear that running wasn’t going to get them very far. Legs stumbled. Then he cried out and stumbled again. Talen gripped Legs’s hand tighter and hauled him to his feet.

The Shoka shouted and called for them to stop, but Talen kept moving until he and Legs skirted the end of the clump and were well behind the thick boughs. This small line of pines ran to the dry bed of a brook. And while the undergrowth on the short banks of the brook might be tall enough to give them some cover, there was no way he and Legs could outrun the two Shoka. They’d corner them soon enough.