Rellen moved slowly through the trees, looking for the perfect spot. There, he thought. At the base of a large tree, there was a line of shrubs and vines growing thick around the bole. Rellen crouched down and took a position beside them, his camouflage blending perfectly with the foliage and shadows around him.

  He glanced to his left, where Mygal, Miranda, and Tavyn sat around their own campfire, chewing on roasted vellish. They weren’t talking, and Miranda’s eyes seemed focused on the forest behind Javyk’s carriage. Her eyes passed over the spot where Rellen was hiding, but they didn’t pause or even slow down as she scanned the tree line. Rellen focused his attention back on his quarry.

  Javyk and Dancer spoke in low voices, and Rellen could just make out what they were saying.

  “…know how far we are from Sylverwynd?” Dancer asked.

  “The cooks said we’d be there in six days.” Javyk prodded the low campfire with a long stick, sending a small column of embers into the air. “I’ll be happy to be done with this dreadful carriage.”

  “It is a bit uncomfortable, but even discomfort brings us closer to the source.”

  Javyk turned appreciative eyes to Dancer. “You truly have embraced the master.”

  “Happily so,” Dancer replied. “But I’m also excited to see Sylverwynd. I’ve never been out of Svennival before. My father wouldn’t have it.”

  “A whole new world is opening up to you.” Javyk glanced at Mr. Bawth. “Excuse me, will you?”

  He rose to his feet, headed for the trees, and seemed to be looking straight into Rellen’s eyes. Rellen’s heartbeat quickened. Rellen prepared to bolt, hoping that if he did, Javyk would be disinclined to follow him. He sucked in a breath and held it.

  Close your eyes and don’t move, little one! he urged. He felt her tuck her head under his chin, hidden partially by his camouflage. Closer and closer Javyk drew, and with each step, Rellen feared he’d been discovered.

  Javyk stopped only a few paces away and scanned the area. Rellen placed a hand on one of his falchions and prepared for a fight. The last thing he wanted was combat this close to the camp, and certainly not with Javyk. He needed information, not a corpse, and revealing himself as a Guardian to the teamsters would be problematic.

  A moment later, Javyk took several paces into the trees and turned toward a large bole. There was a rustling of cloth, and then the sound of water falling on tree bark.

  Rellen let out the breath he’d been holding, staying as motionless as possible.

  When the sound of falling water stopped, Rellen heard Javyk muttering an incantation of some kind. Again, he tensed, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest. If Javyk had somehow detected him, he might try and surprise Rellen. They knew there was an erkurios involved. One had attacked Mygal, and the odds were that a zokurios was involved too. Was Javyk either one of them?

  Moments later, Javyk turned and walked away from the trees, paying Rellen no attention whatsoever.

  Rellen let out another breath as he watched Javyk casually walk back toward the campfire. Javyk got to within about ten feet of the old driver and made a gentle slashing motion which he tried to make look natural. There was no manifestation of the magic that Rellen could see, but an instant later, Mr. Bawth sagged slightly, his head drooping upon his chest. He started snoring.

  That’s how he made the duke’s family sleep through it all, Rellen thought.

  Dancer glanced at the now snoring driver and then up at Javyk, who quickly took his place again by the campfire.

  “Alright,” Javyk said, “we can talk a bit more freely, but keep your voice low. An explosion couldn’t wake Bawth. Those bounty hunters and their captives, however, are closer than I would prefer.” He eyed them carefully for a moment and then nodded. “Even that may prove to be useful in the days ahead.”

  “Yes, milord,” Dancer replied.

  “How are the blisters? Are you settling into the pain?”

  “I am, and happily so. I believe they have gotten much worse during today’s ride. The agony is exquisite, but I fear my flesh may be coming apart. Each jounce of the carriage seemed to press the artifact deeper into my spine.”

  Javyk raised a questioning eyebrow, as a teacher questioning the dedication of a student.

  “Don’t get me wrong, milord,” Dancer said, holding up his hands. “I’m willing to suffer any pain… any injury, but I wanted you to know in case it might cause you difficulties later on.”

  “A prudent concern.” Javyk’s questioning look turned to one of approval. “You continue to impress me. I believe you will go far in our master’s designs.”

  “Thank you, milord,” Dancer replied, and the way he said it sent a shiver up Rellen’s spine. Dancer’s voice had been devoted to the point of what Rellen could only describe as madness—a hunger without end.

  “Now come here and let me take a look at you.”

  “What of the artifact?”

  Javyk looked around at the campsites nearby. Nobody seemed interested in what was going on. “Caravan travelers are rarely interested in the goings-on of others. They gave little or no heed to the marital dispute of our neighbors. Even if someone were to see it, they wouldn’t know what they were looking at, and couriers carrying things beneath their garments is almost as common on the King’s Highway as horses. Now, pull it out and hold it away from me.”

  Dancer rose to his feet and extracted the artifact from beneath the back of his shirt. It was a ring of jade-green metal about ten inches across with irregular cutouts along the inside like gears. The object looked to be about an inch thick and the outer portion was roughly two inches wide, with runes running around the perimeter. It was too far away for Rellen to get a good look at the runes. But he immediately recognized the artifact’s shape from the outline he’d seen on the wall of the duke’s cottage.

  A thrill of excitement passed through him. That’s what they’d been after, Rellen thought. At least his little scouting mission had solved one mystery. Now all he had to do was figure out what the thing was and why they’d gone to so much trouble to get it. He wished Saleeria was with him. Her knowledge of lore and artifacts was unlike any other.

  Holding the ring in front of his crotch, Dancer stepped up to Javyk and turned around. Javyk carefully lifted Dancer’s shirt, exposing a leather harness and pouch that draped down Dancer’s back. Javyk pulled the pouch aside, exposing a blistered circle of angry, red flesh.

  Rellen cringed. He knew what had caused it. He’d only seen that sort of wound a couple times before, but there was no mistaking the burns of Mavric iron exposure.

  Mavric iron, in its pure form, was generally deadly to all living things. The only exception Rellen knew of were the Delvers, a race of small, stocky people who generally lived beneath the mountains or in the Duchy of Draksymsur in the center of Pelinon. Many Delver weapons were forged with Mavric iron blended into the metals because it was a natural magic enhancer of astonishing potency. The Delvers needed kurioi to then imbue their weapons with majea—they couldn’t practice magic themselves—but their weapons were renowned.

  Rellen’s own falchions, the matched blades of Baladon, had been forged with some Mavric in them, but not enough to be harmful. The magic contained within them was simple and straightforward. They were appreciably lighter than falchions of similar size, ever sharp, and capable of cutting through even heavy plate or wyvern scale if there was enough force behind the blow.

  However, most of the casters Rellen had seen use Mavric iron generally died young of consumption and other ailments. Only a very few were able to utilize the stuff and not shorten their lives significantly, and they were all zokurioi.

  The last thing in the world Rellen wanted to deal with, however, was an artifact made of enough Mavric iron to cause the burns Dancer had on his back. Such objects were ancient and dangerous. Dancer had no idea what he held, or he wouldn’t be holding the artifact so close to his nether regions. Rellen had learned at the academy that Mavric iron and pitchblende could also keep a person from having children. He suspected Javyk, however, knew exactly what was happening.

  Javyk tsked several times, inspecting Dancer’s burns closely. He gently pressed his finger into the swollen, blistered tissue, causing Dancer to hiss in pain.

  “Pain is worship,” Javyk said.

  “I rejoice in it, milord,” Dancer said.

  Wretched Nissrans, Rellen thought. Part of him wanted to just go over and execute them on the spot. He’d be within his rights to do so. He had no doubts now that both Dancer and Javyk had been responsible for the murders. There had been others, to be sure, but he also suspected the men he and Mygal faced in the cemetery had been there as well. Fortunately, they were all dead, and while Corwyk identified them, the king would have already sent a detachment to track down and wipe out any Nissrans that might be left in Svennival.

  Javyk let out a long, thoughtful breath. “Once we get to Sylverwynd, our contacts there can get us something to secure the artifact. I had no idea it would do this to you.” Rellen doubted that. “We still have a long way to go to get it to my master. Still, we can’t have you falling apart before we get there, can we?”

  “I will endure whatever is required of me,” Dancer said.

  “Your sacrifice will be rewarded,” Javyk said. He then lifted his head toward the trees above and raised his hand up toward the foliage. He closed his eyes, his hand swaying back and forth slightly. A few heartbeats later, there was movement along one of the branches that stretched over Javyk’s carriage. Something small and furry leapt from the branch and landed upon the carriage with a faint thud and clatter of tiny claws.

  It was a jack glider, a small mammal with long ears, large eyes, a rudder-like tail, and a membrane that stretched between its front and rear legs. They were nocturnal creatures that fed on insects. The creature paused at the edge of the carriage.

  “Come on…” Javyk said in a gentle, almost sickly sweet tone. “Come to me.” He held out his hand, and the tiny animal leapt with a faint squeak, landing in the palm of his hand.

  “That’s it, little one,” Javyk said in a soft, cooing voice. “You have what I need for my friend here.” He seemed to stare into its eyes for several moments, and then the jack glider went limp in his hand, its sides rising and falling slowly.

  Rellen dreaded what he knew was about to happen. Miranda had done something similar with his own wounds, but she’d used the already dying vellish. Javyk was the sort who would use any living creature he could get his wretched hands on.

  Javyk calmly placed his hand upon Dancer’s burned flesh, and a strange, wholly malevolent smile crossed his face. He seemed to delight in what he was doing as he closed his hand around the jack glider. A faint, ruby glow emanated from its body. He concentrated for several moments in silence, and as he did, the jack glider started to shrivel. It made only one pitiable squeak and then went silent as Javyk ripped its life from its body and passed into Dancer’s wounded flesh.

  Dancer’s injury glowed faintly with the ruby light from the glider. After several more moments, the jack glider was a completely desiccated, lifeless husk. Javyk pulled his hand away, and the light emanating from Dancer’s back faded. The blisters were gone, and the skin, while still red, was neither swollen nor flaking.

  “There,” Javyk said, lowering Dancer’s shirt. “It’s not healed, but it’s markedly better. I can do the same each night as needed until we reach Sylverwynd.” He threw the shriveled corpse of the jack glider toward the trees. It landed only a few feet from where Rellen hid.

  Rellen let out a slow, angry breath. He wanted to kill Javyk more than ever, but he couldn’t. The bastard had mentioned a master, and Rellen knew he would have to track that person down to know exactly what was going on. He was also worried about Javyk’s capabilities. Only a zokurios of considerable ability could do what he just did.

  “Thank you, milord,” Dancer said, letting out a relieved sigh. “The pain has abated.”

  “This is but one of my gifts and is, in no small part, why I was selected for this particular mission. Keeping you alive is critical, for our lord wishes to thank you in person. We can’t have you falling ill along the way?”

  “Where are we headed, anyway?” Dancer asked, turning around. “Surely you can tell me now. Svennival is well behind us.”

  “Oh, I suppose you’ve earned the right to know at least some of the details. We’re meeting with members of the Sylverwynd Circle. After that, we shall travel through Jabono to Yaylo. There we will deliver the artifact to my master. Serve him well, and some small part of Pelinon could be yours. Perhaps even Vladysh’s duchy someday. Our master might delight in the irony of it.”

  Javyk got a thoughtful almost concerned look upon his face. He rose to his feet and stared into Dancer’s eyes. He then held his open palm out a few inches from Dancer’s face and closed his eyes for a few seconds. When he opened them again, he looked somewhat concerned. “How do you feel?”

  “I feel much better. Perhaps a little weak, but I’m more than willing and able to continue carrying the artifact. Some rest should help.”

  “Your enthusiasm and resolve are commendable,” Javyk said. “However, I believe you’re not quite in top fighting form. That’s not your fault. I’ll see if I can’t hire some additional protection prior to our meeting in Svennival. One cannot be too careful, and the Circle in Sylverwynd has forces working against them who may choose to involve themselves in our dealings.”

  “I’m strong enough to fight, if needed, milord,” Dancer assured him.

  “I understand, but I’m not one to leave anything to chance.”

  Rellen caught Javyk glance over at his own camp. Miranda was sharpening her blade with the steady whisk of stone on steel. Rellen smiled. He saw an opportunity, and it looked as if Javyk might actually meet him halfway. Letting out a slow breath, he rose up slowly and backed away from the edge of the trees. With Xilly guiding him again, he moved deeper into the forest and then angled back toward his own encampment. When neared the edge of the forest, he went down into a crouch.

  Back into the trees, Xilly, he said.

  I’ll watch that dark one closely, Xilly said, and there was no missing the anger and disgust in her words. He enjoyed killing that jack glider. Took satisfaction from it.

  I know, Rellen said as she fluttered up into the trees. His time will come.

  He waited another fifteen minutes or so for the spells to wear off. When the vines evaporated before his eyes and the sounds of the wildlife grew sharp in his ears, he activated his glowstone and walked out of the forest, deactivating it when he cleared the trees.

  “So, you didn’t get eaten after all,” Miranda said with disappointment thick in her voice.

  “Apparently not.”

  “Have you calmed down?” Miranda asked.

  “Enough to eat, anyway,” Rellen replied as he strode up to the campfire.

  Miranda held out the stick with the last hunk of vellish on it. “Here. It’s cold, but that’s your fault, not mine.”

  “You never quit, do you?” Rellen said, jerking the meat away.

  “Never.”

  Rellen took an angry bite and sat down in front of the fire with his back turned toward Javyk and Dancer. He eyed his companions. Tavyn and Mygal hadn’t moved, both of them reclining against their saddles, with their cloaks over them in case it rained during the night. Miranda gave him just the hint of an expectant look.

  “Things just got a bit more complicated, but there’s good news too,” Rellen said, and then he related everything he’d seen and heard. When he was done, he stared into the fire for a few moments as an idea started to solidify in his thoughts. “We’re following these bastards all the way to Yaylo. Your bounty will have to wait for a while.”

  “I assumed as much,” she said, but her disappointment was clear.

  Mygal did his best not to look disappointed that they were travelling even further south. Rellen got the sense that he wanted to resolve this all as quickly as possible. No doubt to impress the king with a big success story. Tavyn, on the other hand, didn’t look disappointed at all, which surprised him. Rellen would have thought that an information broker in Svennival would lament being away from that which earned him his living. Instead, Tavyn looked almost eager. Still, Tavyn knew he was getting paid a pretty tidy sum each day for just being there. It was easy money, and coin rarely just came into one’s hands. Rellen pushed his suspicions aside, but he couldn’t keep from thinking there was a lot more to Tavyn than met the eye.

  “There’s one other thing,” Rellen said quietly. “As of now, you’re Maybor,” he looked at Tavyn, “and you’re Tygeth.”

  “Why the new names?” Tavyn asked. “Do you have something specific in mind?”

  “I might,” Rellen said. “If the opportunity presents itself, I plan to join Javyk’s journey to Yaylo, and take the rest of you with me. He’ll be looking for a swinging blade or two in Sylverwynd, and I expect to be one of them.”

  Now the game would be patience.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Value of Patience

  With rain pouring down almost nonstop, the next four days passed without incident. Rellen didn’t risk another reconnoiter. He didn’t need to. He’d gotten what he wanted, and like a good hunter, he’d wait to move another step closer in plain sight of his prey. Rellen and Miranda kept up their regularly scheduled pissing matches. The other travelers had even started to anticipate them, even Javyk and Dancer. Like clockwork, Javyk would then put Mr. Bawth to sleep and heal Dancer’s back. It was hard to tell, but even at that distance, it seemed to Rellen that the wound looked just a little worse after each of Javyk’s ministrations. Rellen suspected the zokurios was fighting a losing battle.

  From time to time, they got a glimpse of the Sylverwylde Mountains rising slowly above the tree line and dominating the horizon. On the morning of the fifth day, the rain stopped, and the forest opened up. The mountains were a high, jagged line from left to right. Straight ahead lay Sylverwynd, a rugged-looking city almost as large as Svennival. It lay at the base of a relatively straight and very deep mountain pass that followed a wide river flowing out of the mountains.