He didn't say anything else to her, but she was sure she heard him chuckling. She forced

  down the rest of the stew, and put the bowl on the back of the wagon. She glanced at him one more time before she walked away. His eyes met hers, and she barely caught her shock at seeing they were blue.

  She kept walking, wondering if she had seen what she thought she'd seen. A tall man,

  with blue eyes. She hadn't seen many people of any kind with blue eyes, so what was the

  possibility he was the killer the soldiers were looking for? If he was the killer, maybe he could help her in some way? She turned around and looked at his back while he drank the stew. She couldn't just go up to him and ask him if he was the man the soldiers were looking for. What if he wasn't? Then she would really look foolish, and she might give herself away. She decided she would wait near the river, behind a tree, and follow him for a while, until she could be sure one way or the other.

  She didn't have to wait long. He appeared on the road a bit further down from where she

  was hiding. She let him get far enough ahead of her that she was sure he wouldn't know she was following, and then she too regained the road, walking behind him with her head down.

  The man walked for hours, leaving Eryn's legs exhausted. She considered giving up on

  following him, but she had kept going for so long, he was bound to stop soon, and then she could rest. Except, he didn't. He just continued walking, without food or drink or rest, leaving her dry and tired and angry.

  They reached a group of minstrels with a brightly colored wagon who had set up a camp

  on the side of the road for the evening, and she told herself she would give up the chase and try to buy more food from them. But first he passed them by, and then so did she. She knew she

  shouldn't have, but she just couldn't force herself to give up the hunt.

  Then she heard the horses. There were five of them coming at full gallop up the road

  from the south. She didn't think they would recognize her in the darkness, and at that speed, but she rushed off the road anyway, not wanting to be trampled. She hid behind a bush, and watched as another horse ran towards them from the north. All six came to a stop right in front of her. The rider of the lone horse reached into a bag on his saddle, and handed his letter to a Mediator. Not only that, but the Mediator had a girl with short brown hair in the saddle, positioned in front of them. Did they think that was her? Or was she another Cursed?

  The Mediator took the letter, and opened it. She heard muffled voices as he spoke to the

  messenger and the soldiers, and they took off, continuing north along the road.

  Eryn stood up and made her way back to the road. She didn't know what the meeting had

  been about, but she was glad they hadn't caught her. At the same time, she was bothered by the thought that they might have mistakenly taken the girl in her place.

  She kept walking, hoping the soldiers didn't notice the man she was following, and also

  hoping he hadn't gotten too far ahead. If he hated the soldiers enough to kill them, maybe he would help her go after them and save their captive.

  She barely found a hiding place in time when she heard the running footsteps coming

  straight towards her. She jumped over a thicket of bramble, the thorns putting tears in her pants and skin, and turned around. She saw the man running back the other direction. His hood was down, and she could see the white hair dancing with his movement. It was him, she was sure of it now. But, why was he running the other way? Was he trying to get away from the soldiers?

  Maybe he wasn't as brave as she'd thought.

  Eryn decided not to try to get his attention. She couldn't trust him if he was running away.

  She would just have to try to follow the horses, and see where they went herself. She wasn't sure what she could do, but she had to do something. Her parents would never have wanted her to let someone else be hurt in her place. She began to run.

  Pounding hoofbeats forced her to dive to the ground yet again. She landed on her

  stomach and turned to see another horse go by, with the man on it. She caught her breath in surprise. He wasn't running, he was finding a way to get there faster!

  She jumped to her feet and kept running after him. Her legs were exhausted, but she felt

  renewed by the idea of this man fighting to save the girl. She was desperate to get to him as soon as she could, to help him against his soldiers. She didn't really know how to handle a sword, but she could use a bow with decent skill.

  The excitement wore off after she had run, then walked, then run again for over an hour.

  She wanted so much to be there when he confronted the soldiers, but her body just wasn't fit enough to keep going for that long. She was just about ready to fall to the ground in exhausted frustration, when first she saw the torn up dirt and the tracks leading off through a field and into the woods, and then she saw the horse the killer had been riding.

  Eryn followed the trail, walking cautiously through the field, and stopping at the edge of

  the trees. She took her bow from her back, and pulled one of the arrows from her quiver. She entered ready to fire at anything that came towards her. She only hoped her aim would be true.

  She stopped when she saw the fire, and the soldiers sitting around it. She was wondering

  where the others were when she saw the man without armor get up, take something from the

  ground behind the fire, and start carrying it away. She watched him for as long as the light of the flames allowed, and then she crouched down and followed after him.

  When she saw the larger camp, and all of the soldiers in it sitting around fires, laying on the ground sleeping, or standing and talking to one another, she felt afraid.

  When she saw the wagon, with the girl and six other prisoners inside, trapped behind

  metal bars, she felt angry.

  When she looked from them to the finery of the red and gold tent where she knew the

  Mediator must be, she was livid.

  She closed her eyes and felt her heart beating faster, her anger only growing the more

  time she spent looking at the wagon through the trees. She wondered where the killer had gone.

  Had he seen it was hopeless, and left? Except, the horse had been in the field, and he hadn't gone back past her. Was he still there, somewhere?

  Eryn knew she had to do something, but what could she do? She was just one young girl,

  who didn't know how to fight. All of the arrows in her quiver wouldn't be enough to kill even half of the soldiers.

  What she did have, she realized, was her Curse. And the blue stone that she had seen Lia

  use to shoot lighting at Roddin.

  As quiet as she could, she put the bow on the ground and slid the quiver off her shoulder.

  She put it down in front of her, and reached into its depths, searching for the stone. When she found it, it was cold to the touch. She took it in her hand and drew it out, looking down at it. It didn't seem special, but she had seen what the Mediator had done with it, and the Mediator was Cursed, like her.

  Eryn took a few deep breaths, trying to calm her nerves. She was either going to make

  her Curse help her, or she was going to die. Either way, at least she would know she had done her best to save innocent people.

  She stood up.

  She took a few more breaths, slowing her heartbeat, calming herself, giving herself

  confidence and strength. She held the stone out in front of her in her palm, looking down at it and concentrating. She knew what she wanted it to do. She sent those thoughts towards it, and started walking forwards.

  The tingle started behind her ears as she reached the edge of the trees, leading into the

  small clearing where the camp was arranged. In the back of her mind, she heard the soldier that saw her first screaming an alarm. In the corner of her eye, she saw them rush to grab their weapons; the swords and the bows. She felt the power building, the tingle slipping down her spine and between her shoulders, running like water through her hand to the small blue stone she was holding.

  "Litsum," she said, pushing her thought at the stone.

  The world exploded.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Silas

  Silas watched the messenger exit the tent and start walking away. He glanced over at the

  prison wagon again, taking note of the heavy lock on the door, and the hitch at the front. It would be hard to break the lock with the lousy sword he was carrying, and even harder to get the key from whichever Mediator he was sure was holding it. The hitch was another story, though. If he could sneak in once most of the camp had gone to sleep, he might be able to get a couple of horses onto the wagon, and start rolling it away.

  "At least until they hop on their horses and ride me down," he muttered to himself. He would be even more of a sitting duck steering the wagon, giving the soldiers plenty of chances to put an arrow in his chest.

  He was reconsidering his plans when he noticed a faint blue light coming from the woods

  on the other side of the Mediator's tent. Before he could shift himself to get a better look, he saw that the light was coming from someone's hand. He followed the hand up to the arm to the

  shoulder, and then to the face. He recognized the boy from the silk merchant's cart immediately.

  There was a shout as one of the soldiers saw the boy too.

  "What in the name of Amman is he doing?" Silas asked himself. "He's going to get killed."

  The blue light was growing brighter, and he saw how the boy was looking down at his

  hand. No, not at his hand, but something he was holding. Then he saw the blood that was pooling below his left eye.

  Silas didn't think, he just acted. He rose up from his hiding spot and drew his sword,

  running towards the boy. He was Cursed, and he was free! He wasn't sure what he was doing, but he was sure he was going to need help.

  No sooner had he reached the clearing then the blue light exploded outward in a blinding

  white light, lances of it launching everywhere around them. Silas threw himself to the ground, narrowly avoiding one of the bursts, and hearing it hit the tree he had just been hiding behind, lighting it on fire. He heard screams, as some of the bolts lashed into soldiers, and cries of fear from those that weren't struck. More bolts launched from the boy's hand, hitting the trees around them, hitting the Mediator's tent, hitting more soldiers. In a matter of seconds the entire camp was turned to chaos.

  Silas pulled himself up. He saw the boy suddenly react as though he was in pain,

  dropping whatever he had been holding to the ground. The lightning stopped immediately, and he stood there clutching his wrist and looking down at his hand, still smoldering from the heat of the display.

  The Mediator's tent was on fire, and Silas saw the flap at the entrance get shoved aside,

  and a man with long brown hair tied back in a ponytail step out, sword in hand. His eyes went directly to the Cursed boy, and he started charging towards him, raising the weapon to strike.

  The boy saw him coming, but didn't move, his eyes wide with fear. Silas started running

  for them, forcing himself to move as fast as he could. He reached the Mediator just as he was preparing to strike the boy, stabbing the dull point of his sword into the man's back and running him through. He reached up and took the man's hand, preventing him from bringing the sword

  down on the boy, and then threw him to the ground. He dropped his dull blade, and claimed the Mediator's.

  The boy was looking at him, his mouth wide open, his eyes wild. Then he raised a finger

  and pointed.

  Silas spun around, bringing up the Mediator's sword just in time to block one of the

  surviving soldiers. He smiled when he felt the light weight of it, the perfect balance, and the way it captured much of the vibration caused by the block. It was the finest sword he had ever

  touched.

  He knocked the soldier's sword away and drove it into his chest. Something in his mind

  told him that no, it wasn't the finest sword he had ever touched, but it would do.

  Silas heard the snap of a bowstring, and turned in the direction of the sound, expecting an arrow to pierce him or the boy before he could finish the movement. He found the archer a dozen feet away, but his bow wasn't even aimed at them.

  It was aimed at the wagon.

  A cry echoed in the night as the arrow pierced the chest of one of the Cursed, and he fell

  backwards into the arms of the others. Two more twangs, and two more arrows found their way between the bars and into the prisoners.

  Silas started to make a run for them, to cut them down before they could finish their dirty business, when a voice interrupted him.

  "Going somewhere, Silas?"

  He turned towards the Mediator's tent, which was on its way to being burned to ash.

  Standing in front of it was Roque.

  "I'm setting them free," Silas said. He held the sword ready, but he knew it wouldn't be that useful against a Mediator.

  "That is what you don't understand. You aren't setting them free." He looked over at the boy. "I can't let them leave here alive. I'm sorry."

  Silas shouted and charged. Roque brought up his own blade and blocked it. They held the

  weapons close, each pushing back against the other.

  "You used to understand," Roque said. "You used to believe in him."

  Murderer, the voice whispered in his mind.

  "I used to be a murderer," he said, giving a hard shove and breaking the clinch.

  He brought the blade up and around again, but Roque backed out of reach. He could hear

  the cries of the Cursed in the wagon, and he saw that one of the soldiers had reached it with a torch, and was setting it on fire.

  "How can you stand there and watch them kill innocent people?" he shouted at Roque.

  "They aren't more than children, and they're just like you!"

  A tear ran from Roque's eye. A red tear.

  "Because I have faith in his truth, as you used to." He held out his hand, pointing his fist at Silas. " He should have killed you, all those years ago."

  Silas saw the ring on his finger, the red stone attached to the shining metal loop. He saw

  the flame within the stone, and he understood, but there was nothing he could do.

  The fire shot at him like a lance, burning a hole in the air and heading straight for him.

  He was too close. He closed his eyes, ready to feel the flames take him, already sensing the heat on his face. When seconds passed, and he found he was still alive, he opened them.

  He was laying on the grass, ten feet away from where he had started. Roque was in the

  same spot, the flames squelched, but his attention was somewhere else. Silas followed it with his eyes, and landed on the boy.

  He was standing there with his hand out, a line of blood running from his eye and down

  his cheek, dripping off onto his shirt. "Leave him alone," the boy shouted.

  "How?" Roque asked staring at the boy. He seemed surprised that he had been able to shove Silas aside. "Child, please, let me help you."

  "Help me?" the boy cried. "Can you bring my parents back? Can you bring my brother back? Can you revive that girl in the wagon that you thought was me? How can you help me,

  when you've already hurt me in every way you can imagine?"

  "Girl?" Silas said, not loud enough for either of them to hear. He came to another understanding; that the boy was no boy at all, but the girl the soldiers had been searching for. No wonder they had been so desperate to find her.

  "I'm sorry," Roque said. "We can be overly... assertive, at times. It is only because we must. Please, come with me, and I will show you everything you need to see, to understand."

  Silas heard the soldiers headed towards him. He rolled to his feet, sword in hand, just in

  time to block a soldier's downward stab, kick the blade away, and hack through the soldier's head. Two more were coming his way, and he charged towards them, taking them off guard,

  slipping between them. The Mediator's blade was incredibly sharp, and it took only a light touch to open deep wounds in both of their stomachs. They fell to the ground, groaning in pain.

  "I don't want to understand," the girl said. Eryn, Silas remembered. That was the name the soldiers had given to the merchants on the Elling road. Eryn Albion. "There is no good reason to kill innocent people. You say you need me, you need Cursed for some reason that

  makes sense to you? If that was true, you would speak plain, not kill our families and take us against our will. Not kill us when we run away. How in the name of Amman does that make

  sense to you?"

  They were the words that broke the Mediator's calm. His face twisted, and he brought his

  sword to bear. "You know nothing," he yelled.

  Silas looked down at the dying soldiers. He saw the small hunting knife sticking out of

  the boot of the one on the left. He reached down and grabbed it, and turned back to Roque. The Mediator was rushing Eryn, as the first had. He pulled back his arm and let loose. The knife wasn't meant for throwing, but he had instincts and muscle memories he couldn't connect to his former life. Its flight was awkward, but its aim was true, planting itself in the side of the man's neck.

  The wound caused Roque to stumble, and he dropped the sword, crashing into Eryn and

  falling on top of her. She screamed at him, struggling to get free, and then quieted.

  Silas looked around. All of the horses had fled when the fighting had started. The

  chargers were trained for war, not whatever insane power the Cursed possessed. The trees and the soldiers' tents were burning. The red and gold Mediator's tent was sagging and ready to collapse. The wagon with the prisoners was on fire too, but there were no screams or cries for help, its inhabitants already peppered with arrows. The soldiers that hadn't yet been killed had seen Roque fall, and chose to run.

  "I have to get her out of here," he said to himself.