“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Mygal groaned in a particularly loud voice. Everyone turned their heads at him, surprised looks on their faces. Rellen’s eyes flicked to Miranda, worried everything was about to be undone. Mygal grabbed his reins, making a point of jingling the chains of his shackles. “Master… Pearce, was it?” He gave his horse a light kick and moved her over a bit closer.

  “Aye,” the teamster replied, looking warily at Mygal.

  “You’ve got to let us join the caravan.” Mygal moved his horse even closer.

  “And why would that be?” The teamster glanced at Rellen, a disbelieving look on his face.

  “Because I’d rather ride in the safety of the caravan and end up in prison than suffer one more day alone with these two imbeciles.”

  Everyone’s eyes went wide.

  “Watch your mouth, you cur,” Rellen barked, but he gave Mygal the faintest nod to encourage him.

  “I won’t,” Mygal shot back. “These two beat us every morning, we haven’t eaten in two days, and they almost got us killed a few nights ago, ripped to pieces by a pack of vellish!” He glared at Rellen. “Anything would be better than what we’ve suffered so far. As far as I’m concerned, my safest bet is to be mixed in with a caravan. They’re less likely to beat us, anyway, and we won’t have to worry about our guts being eaten in the dead of night by the next hungry beast to catch our scent.”

  Rellen glared at Mygal. “You’ll—”

  “I’ll what?” He glared back haughtily. “You can’t do anything worse to me than you’ve already done. The bounty says alive. Remember? I’m no good to you dead.”

  Master Pearce cocked his head sideways, his eyes flitting over them all. They rested for a moment on the blood that stained the sleeve of Tavyn’s tunic, and then he looked more closely. Everyone had blood on their clothes, and the gouges on Rellen’s bracer and pauldron could only come from one thing.

  “Is it true?” He stared at Rellen. “Ambushed by a pack of vellish?”

  “It is,” Rellen said. “One almost killed me with its venom, but my wife was able to pull me back from the brink.” He glared at Mygal once again, but he was impressed with the young man. It had been a bold play. He wasn’t sure if it was a subtle casting of ermajea or if Mygal was just that good of a liar. He suspected it was probably both, and he now had a much better idea of why the king had selected him to be the Thirteenth Guardian. Mygal thought fast on his feet and had skills to back it up. Looking back at the teamster, he asked, “How far are you going?”

  “All the way to Yaylo,” Master Pearce said, a stern but wavering look in his eyes. “Supper every night is part of the deal, if you didn’t know. If there are leftovers, you can grab them from the mess wagon in the morning, but plan on only one meal a day. Water will also be available.”

  Rellen didn’t know where Javyk and Dancer were headed. If they left the caravan at Sylverwynd, Rellen could simply follow. The teamster probably wouldn’t even notice. If Rellen’s quarry went past Yaylo, he’d just have to figure something out.

  “That’ll work for us,” he replied.

  “And where are you headed?” the teamster asked.

  “We’d rather not say, Master Pearce, but we’ll pay to get to Yaylo, if that’s alright with you… just to make things easy. I believe that’s four mounted travelers at ten sepiks each to get to Sylverwynd. Jabono is five more, and Yaylo would be another ten. That’s a hundred sepiks to join the caravan.” Rellen reached into his cloak and pulled out a coin purse.

  “So, you know the routes?”

  “Not my first caravan,” Rellen said, handing over four golden dakkaris.

  “You do seem a tad bit familiar to me.” Master Pearce slipped the coins into an inner pocket of his vest.

  “It’s possible. I’ve covered a lot of Pelinon over the years.” He glanced at Mygal and Tavyn and then met the teamster’s gaze. “Oh, and there’s one other thing. They don’t know where we’re taking them, and I’d like to keep it that way.” Rellen tossed the teamster another dakkari. “We’re willing to pay a little extra for our privacy until we get where we’re going. Will that work for you?”

  “Done.” The coin disappeared into one of the teamster’s vest pockets. He looked up the road ahead of them. “You’ll want to get around these wagons and join the travelers in the middle. Just slip in between some of the others, there’s plenty of room.” He peered down the road for several heartbeats. “But you better hurry. We’re coming up on the next way station. We’ll be stopping there and setting up our camp.”

  “Understood,” Rellen said. He looked to the others. “Let’s get moving.” He stared at Mygal again. “And that’ll be enough of your mouth, if you know what’s good for you.” He slapped Mygal’s arm with the back of his hand.

  Master Pearce gave a satisfied nod, turned his horse, and galloped off toward the head of the caravan.

  Rellen led the four of them past a line of fifteen heavily loaded wagons. After every fourth one, they also passed a pair of mounted teamsters with longswords, lances, and crossbows strapped to their saddles.

  The travelers in the caravan were a mix of men on foot, riders, a few dozen wagons with mostly families in them, and a dozen fine-looking, enclosed carriages in the line, all mixed together. Rellen drifted out a bit, moving off to the side of the highway to get a better angle on the passengers. He passed the tail end of the line, moving forward at an easy pace, and surreptitiously glanced into each carriage. He’d made it to the middle of the group when he came upon one that seemed to be keeping a somewhat larger gap between itself and the others. The riders ahead and behind it were just a bit farther away than the others in the caravan had been.

  He thought it peculiar, so he slowed his pace. One of the men inside caught his eye. He was a thin fellow, gaunt even, with pale skin and deep-set eyes so heavily shadowed that they looked almost like the eyes of a bare skull that had been set atop a black tunic with a high collar. His hair was pulled back, tied at the back of his head. Rellen couldn’t tell how tall he was, but everything else matched the description Rickavyn had given them.

  He casually looked back to the others and then slowly drifted back into the line, taking a spot directly behind the gaunt man’s carriage. The others settled in, doing their best to look like nothing more than bored bounty hunters and anxious prisoners.

  Rellen leaned over to Mygal. “Excellent work back there,” he said, keeping his face impassive.

  The corner of Mygal’s mouth turned up a fraction of an inch, but he didn’t say anything.

  “Ermajea, or just gall?” Rellen asked.

  Mygal let out a satisfied breath. “Both.”

  * * *

  An hour later, with the sun hanging low in the sky, the caravan turned off the King’s Highway into a wide field that had been cut into the forest. When the central wagon came to a stop in the center of the field, several of the teamsters hustled to the back and started breaking out what Rellen recognized as a military-style field kitchen. The riders, wagons, and carriages spread out, only roughly directed by Master Pearce and a handful of teamsters who had taken up a position around the mess wagon. The grass was uneven and cut deeply in places, making the wagons and carriages jounce heavily as they passed over them.

  Other teamsters spread out across the field in pairs on horseback. When they reached the tree line, they dismounted and disappeared into the forest to scout the area, leaving the horses tethered to nearby trees.

  The size of the caravan, now that he could see it spread out, was larger than most of the others he’d traveled with. It forced some travelers to set their camps up against the edge of the trees, which was a little out of the ordinary. Normally, the teamsters wanted a wide buffer between the forest and the travelers, but there just wasn’t room. The driver of the carriage they’d followed steered his four-horse team to a spot at the back of the field, up against the trees. He quite deliberately put as much space as he could between his carriage and the other camp sites.

  Rellen followed suit, picking a spot about twenty feet away, also against the forest, beneath a massive tree whose limbs stretched out over the field a fair distance. It was close enough to the carriage to be useful but not enough to arouse suspicion.

  “We’ll set up here,” he said to the others, getting off Shaddeth.

  He stretched his legs, back, and arms, scanning the forest for any sign of his winged companion.

  Xilly, he thought. Are you nearby?

  Look up.

  He did. It took him a few moments, but eventually he spotted a black shadow perched on the branch above. She stretched out her wings slightly and then pulled them back in, disappearing into the foliage.

  Good girl, Rellen thought. Keep an eye out. When this is all over, I’ll get you the biggest feast of whatever you want for a week straight.

  I’m not starving, but I find your terms acceptable, she replied with a good deal of enthusiasm.

  Rellen still marveled at how much like a… well… a person she was. To him, Xilly was the same as Miranda—a person he could count on, and he’d had no difficulty letting her in past his guard. It had felt perfectly natural.

  He started unbuckling Shaddeth’s saddle when the door to the carriage opened. A young man, around twenty, with a long, black, braided ponytail down his back stepped out. He was about six feet tall, with a well-defined physique. He had on black leather pants, knee-high black leather boots, and a tunic the color of blood. He had a rapier on his hip and a long dagger in a horizontal sheath across the back of his belt.

  Rellen glanced at Mygal and Tavyn, motioning slightly for them to look with a question in his eyes. They both cast sidelong glances in that direction and then nodded. The young man stepped down to the ground and held the door open. With his back to them, it looked like he had something circular hidden beneath his shirt, secured somehow across his lower back. As they watched, the man Rellen had seen before stepped down out of the carriage and stretched his lean, pallid frame out.

  “Thank you, Dancer,” Javyk said with a nod of his head. He turned to the driver, a bony old man with a crooked nose and a wispy ring of white hair surrounding a sun-weathered patch of liver-spotted scalp. “Mr. Bawth, see to the horses and get a campfire going. Ulient and I are going to stretch our legs before they serve supper.”

  “Yes, Master Sukari,” the old man said with a bow.

  With that, Javyk and Dancer strolled off, caught up in a whispered conversation.

  Rellen turned to the others. “We’ll get the horses tended to and set up camp as quickly as possible. I want to be done before they get back, if we can.”

  * * *

  A fire crackled before them. There was the hushed drone of travelers talking around enough campfires to push the darkness all the way to the edge of the trees. Thunder echoed distantly, coupled with subdued flashes illuminating high clouds to the east. The sky above, however, was a blanket of stars.

  Miranda had chained Mygal and Tavyn together with a good deal of show and even some shouting and insults, drawing the attention of several campsites nearby, including Javyk and Dancer. The last slab of vellish meat, cut into four thick hunks, roasted over the fire, tended by Miranda.

  “So, what happens next?” Tavyn asked quietly, running his fingers absentmindedly over his expensive bracelet.

  “Next, I go see what I can see,” Rellen replied. Xilly, meet me about twenty or thirty feet into the trees. He looked for her in the foliage above.

  I’ll find you, she replied.

  He thought he caught movement up above, but he couldn’t be sure.

  “But to do that,” Rellen then said, glancing at Miranda, “we need to have a fight.”

  “What?” Tavyn said, looking perplexed. Neither Rellen nor Miranda had told them about this part of the plan. They wanted the reactions of their companions to be genuine.

  “Are you out of your Nissra-loving mind?” Rellen shouted, jumping to his feet. He glared at Miranda. “I didn’t sign up for that! Once we get their bounties, I’m gone.”

  “Fine then,” Miranda barked back. “Take your money and go! You’ve been wanting to run out on me for months.”

  “Longer than that, my love. If I didn’t need a partner to do this job—”

  “Stings, doesn’t it?” Miranda said in a sickly sweet tone. “You’d be lost without me.”

  “Bah!” Rellen shouted, waving a dismissive hand at her. He glanced around and was happy to have achieved the desired result. The travelers around them, despite the spacing, were all looking in their direction, including Javyk and Dancer. Rellen made a point of meeting Javyk’s gaze and rolling his eyes in Miranda’s direction. “I’m going for a walk,” he shouted, and then he marched off straight toward the forest. “I swear, you’re the most infuriating, life-wrecking, woman I’ve ever known.”

  “Nobody else would have you,” Miranda shouted back. “I hope something eats you, you bloody fool!”

  “It would be better than living with you,” Rellen shouted from a short distance into the forest.

  “Trouble in paradise?” Mygal asked and his delight seemed genuine.

  Miranda shook her head and glared at the trees. “I’ve been married to that stubborn son of a Giant’s whore for ten years. He’ll calm down soon enough and come crawling back. Sometimes I don’t know why I stay married to him.”

  “Maybe you could just let us slit his throat for you. Call it payment for letting us go.”

  “Think of the headaches it would save you?” Tavyn chimed in.

  Miranda kicked Mygal’s leg. “Shut your mouths. Both of you. When I want your opinion, I’ll beat it out of you. Now go to sleep or I’ll just brain you both and eat the bounty.” She glanced up and caught Javyk staring straight at her.

  “What are you looking at,” she called out.

  He quickly turned away, and Miranda went back to roasting the vellish.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Reconnoiter

  Keep an eye out for vellish or anything else that might rip my throat out, would you? Rellen asked as Xilly fluttered down to his shoulder. She coiled her tail around his neck and licked his ear.

  I will, she replied and immediately started scanning the forest.

  The sounds of the forest closed in, with the chirps, shrieks, and calls of all manner of animal and insect.

  The campfire light dimmed quickly, so Rellen pulled out a small glowstone from within his cloak and spoke the word that would activate it. A pale, white glow sprang forth, casting the forest in the equivalent of bright moonlight. When he’d gone about a hundred yards, with thick boles rising into a dense canopy that blotted out the stars, he came upon a small rivulet cutting its way through the forest. There was a narrow gap in the canopy, revealing a starry sky, unfettered by the campfire light. Rellen deactivated the glowstone with a word and took a moment to just stare up at the stars.

  The night sky was one of his favorite sights. Since his childhood, a starry sky filled him with awe and a profound appreciation for how lucky he was to lead the life he did. Most people rarely left the safety of their towns and villages… rarely left the safety of light and the small bastions of civilization they shielded themselves with. He thrived out in the open. It was where he felt most comfortable.

  Tearing his eyes away from the stars, he pulled a small crystal from the pouch on his belt—he was now down to five—and a blob of wool from another. Focusing his majea into the crystal, he spoke the incantation, and a faint flash of pale light formed around his body and dissipated.

  Next, he rolled the blob of wool between his fingers, summoned another small amount of his majea, and poured it into the material until the wool had elongated into a long rod that went rigid as the spell filled it. Within moments, the rod of wool took on a pale, bluish glow. Finally, he used the rod to inscribe a series of sigils upon his chest, the tip leaving a faint trace of light on the cuirass of his leather armor. Laying down several runes in quick succession, he uttered another incantation. With the final word, the woolen rod evaporated as the runes flashed and disappeared. As they did, the sounds of the forest dimmed slightly, as if they were passing through a thin shroud.

  Satisfied the spell had worked, he reached out and plucked a small, leaf-covered strand from a nearby vine. Again, he focused his majea and tied the vine into three small, loose knots, uttering the first half of the incantation with each loop. He uttered the second half of the incantation as he placed the knotted vine into the collar of his armor. With the final word, the vine flashed with a pale green light and began to grow, expanding and coiling around his chest, arms, legs, and head. Within a few heartbeats, the vines covered him, or at least appeared to do so. His majea dealt with symbols and manifestations rather than living things, but the illusion would serve his purposes.

  The first spell would protect him from any magic attacks, the second would keep anyone from hearing him moving through the forest, and the third would keep prying eyes from seeing him. He was ready.

  I’m heading back, he said to Xilly. You’ll have to be my eyes for a bit. Guide me to the back of Javyk’s camp, will you?

  I will.

  Navigating through the dark forest was trickier than Rellen had thought it would be. He stumbled over several thick roots as he went, but the silencing spell kept his thudding footfalls and muttered curses from passing beyond the shroud of the spell. Xilly guided him around tree trunks. After a few minutes, the faint glow of campfire light filtered through the trees, and he could make out Javyk’s carriage.

  He cautiously moved up to the edge of the forest to find Javyk and Dancer sitting quietly in front of their campfire a few yards from the carriage. The old driver, Mr. Bawth, sat on the grass, leaned up against one of the carriage’s wheels. He held a tankard in one hand and chewed on a thick piece of jerky, as he occasionally looked out into the darkness of the forest.