"Amman, help me," she huffed, hopping over a root and past a large oak tree. She knew not to wait. The village priest had always said that Amman only helped those who first helped themselves.

  She ran for another ten minutes, before her legs were screaming too loud for her to ignore

  any further. Exhausted, she slowed down to a walk, and strained her ears to listen for the horses.

  She was surprised to find she heard nothing.

  "Did I run fast enough to get away?" she asked. She listened again. Still nothing. Then she began to worry. She didn't need Roddin to tell her that there should always be some kind of sound in the middle of a forest. Birds singing, insects chirping, something. Except there wasn't.

  There was nothing.

  She looked around, but she didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Just the trunks of tall trees, and the same lay of bushes and grass and rocks that spread across the entire forest floor.

  But where were the birds? And what had happened to the soldiers?

  Eryn walked as slow as she could, on the lookout for anything that might be dangerous.

  She wasn't looking in the right place.

  She took a step, and heard a snap. A second later, her world became blurry as she felt her

  leg get pulled out from under her, and her body was dragged along the grass. Within moments, she was hanging upside down from the branch of a tree, three feet off the ground. The contents of her quiver spilled out to the grass below.

  "No," she cried. She lifted her head to see the looped rope that had snared her ankle. She just needed to reach the knife, and she could cut her way free. She looked down, searching for it on the ground, and finding it right under her. She stretched her arm out, reaching for it, the tips of her fingers brushing against the hilt.

  She wondered who had put this trap here, and what they would do to her once they found

  her. She wondered if the soldiers would discover her first, and thank Amman for their good

  fortune.

  "If only I were an inch taller," she said. She was afraid to use her Curse, afraid it would lead them to her, but she didn't have a choice.

  Calling on the power was easier said than done. She knew she had to be calm, and her

  mind had to be at ease; difficult when you were hanging upside down from a tree. She also knew she had to aim her hand at whatever she wanted to use her power on, and concentrate on what she wanted it to do. She had found that it helped a lot to say something when calling on the Curse, a word that had meaning to her in relation to the effect she wanted to create. For moving things closer, she liked to say 'tappis'.

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. She told herself she

  had plenty of time to get the knife, that whoever had snared her wouldn't know she was caught right away, and that she still couldn't hear the sounds of the soldiers approaching.

  It took a few minutes, but eventually she calmed enough that she was ready to try to use

  her Curse. She held her left arm out towards the knife, and concentrated on the idea of it moving up into her hand. She felt the tingle begin behind her ears.

  "Tappis," she said, not too loud so she wouldn't give herself away. The knife shifted slightly, but not enough. She had to try again.

  She took another deep breath, and reached her arm out, concentrating.

  "Tappis," she said again. The knife vibrated, and then rose up into her hand.

  "Thank Amman," she said, blinking her eyes as she felt the tear begin to form on her lower eyelid. She didn't want the blood going up and covering her eye. She bent over and

  grabbed the rope so she could pull herself up. At that very same instant, it snapped off the branch, and she fell face-first to the ground.

  "Mmmm.." Something rumbled behind her. A deep, frightening rumble.

  Eryn was trying to decide whether to turn around, or run, when she saw that the rope was

  moving, slithering towards her like a snake. She stifled a scream, still afraid of attracting the soldiers, and scrambled to get to her feet.

  She was too slow. The rope coiled around her, and held her tight.

  "Mmmm.." The rumble came again, closer this time. Before she knew what was

  happening, she was being lifted into the air by a pair of massive grey hands. She only had a split-second glimpse of the thing that had captured her, but it was enough. She thought she had been afraid before.

  All Eryn could see from her vantage point on top of the monsters shoulder was a huge

  upper torso that was hunched and crooked, a gigantic rear covered by pants that had been

  stitched together with the remains of other, smaller pants, and the backs of large grey feet, the skin of which was cracked and mottled like stone. She hadn't seen the thing's face, and she was pretty sure she didn't want to.

  Master Lewyn had always told stories about the monsters that lived in the woods. The

  goblins and ogres and trolls. She had always thought they were no more than tales meant to scare the young, and entertain the old. Now it turned out maybe the stories were true?

  The thing didn't carry her far, and she could tell by the large tracks it left that it wasn't concerned with being followed. Before long it reached the hollowed out base of a large tree, under which had been dug out a tunnel that dove down into the earth. It carried her down the tunnel, and dumped her off in its lair.

  "Mmmm..." The creature laid her on her stomach, and she felt a tug on the ropes. Then they fell away.

  Eryn wasn't sure what to do. Was the monster letting her go? Or did he only want to eat

  her if she resisted? Should she be still, or try to run? She didn't waste a lot of time deciding. It was better to find out, and let Amman decide.

  She planted her hands under her, and pushed herself to her feet, turning around in one

  smooth motion. She held her eyes closed waiting to be ripped apart, or growled at, or something.

  When none of those things happened, she opened her eyes.

  "Mmmm..."

  It was standing right in front of her. Ten feet tall, with a huge head and large, fanged

  teeth. Its ears hung from it like melted butter, and its nose was little more than a pair of holes in the center of its face. It had large black eyes, and thin, cracked lips. Its neck was as crooked and bent as its back.

  Eryn thought about screaming, but she still didn't want the soldiers to find her. At least if this thing killed her, it would be doing so for food, not out of pure malice. Still, it didn't look like it wanted to kill her and eat her. In fact, it looked sad.

  "Mmmm," it said again, staring at her. "Mmmalik." It tapped on its chest. Was it telling her its name?

  "Malik?" Eryn asked. She fought against the natural fear that came from standing before something that looked so menacing.

  It took a deep breath in, and huffed it out. "Malik," it said.

  "Hello, Malik. I'm Eryn." Her voice was shaky from nervousness, but she managed to steel herself enough to put out her hand. She hoped the creature could take it in its own massive fist without breaking it.

  It didn't take her hand at all. It just stared at her for a minute.

  "Hur...hurrrr....hurrrttss," Malik said, looking down at the ground. "Huuurrttss."

  Eryn immediately forgot her fear. "What hurts?" she asked. "Did you hurt yourself?"

  Malik still just looked at her, as if considering something. "Huuurrttss," it said again. It put a finger to its eye, and ran it down its face, like a falling tear.

  Eryn remembered her bleeding eye. It always did that when she used her Curse. "No, it

  doesn't hurt." Did this creature really care if she was in pain?

  "Huuurrrttss," it said again. It held out its other hand and opened it. Resting in its palm was her knife. It looked like it belonged to a doll in its hand. "Taakkkee."

  Eryn was confused. The monster was offering her the knife back? She moved slowly,

  stepping forward and reaching out. She was sure it would catch her hand in its own, or pull the weapon back at the last second, but it did neither of these things. It just let her take the knife.

  "Thank you," Eryn said. She needed to leave. She needed to get back out into the woods and follow the creature's tracks back to where her things had fallen. She didn't want to lose the round stone, or the red crystal brooch. She was sure she would need them to find the answers that she sought. "I have to go," she said to it. "I have to leave."

  She looked around the small hole for the first time, and her fear began to overcome her

  again. All around the corners of the lair were bones. Large bones, small bones. Some were

  picked clean, others still had rotting flesh and muscle on them. In the corner was a larger pile of bones, spread out in a circle and covered with branches and leaves so that it looked like a bed.

  On top of the bed was a single book.

  "Huurrrttss," Malik said again. It took a tentative step towards her, so she backed way, closer to the bed.

  "You have a book," Eryn said, taking back control of her fear. If it had wanted to hurt her, it would have done it already. Wouldn't it?

  She had only seen one other book, the one her father had brought back from Elling City.

  She was curious why a monster would have a book. She wondered what it could be. "Do you mind if I look at it?"

  She took a few more steps back to the bed, and leaned over to retrieve it. It was a plain

  item, with a simple leather cover and a number of pages inside. Malik hadn't moved, so she

  opened it up and began flipping through it.

  There was writing, so much writing, but no pictures. She turned page after page, seeing

  the words but not wanting to take the time to read them. She needed to get out of there, to get her things and get out of the forest. She needed to go to Elling and learn what she could about him.

  Why was she wasting time with a book?

  "Plleeeeeassse," Malik said. He was still standing there, his head hung low. "Huurrrtttss."

  Eryn realized then that the monster wasn't asking her if she was hurt. It was telling her

  that it was hurt. She looked at it more closely, noticing how its eyes followed her head as she examined it for injury. "I don't see anything."

  "Mmmm..." It closed its eyes and started shaking. Eryn saw the tears began to pool on its cracked, grey face.

  She didn't know what to do. It was clear the thing was in pain, enough that it was making

  it cry. She looked back at the book, at the headings on each of the pages. She realized then that she was holding a journal.

  "Is this yours?" she asked. Malik didn't respond. "How can this be yours? Your hands are too big to hold a quill." Still, she thought maybe there could be something useful in the book.

  She wasn't the best reader, but it didn't hurt to check.

  She turned to the last entry, only about halfway through the book. It was written in sloppy hand, with big loops and splotches that made it more difficult to read. It also made Eryn believe that it had been written either at the same time, or after Malik had been injured.

  Year Of Our Lord: 423

  I fear this is the last entry I will be able to make in this journal. The change is occurring more rapidly now, and I can tell that both my body and my mind are becoming too inhuman to continue writing. I look back on the decisions I've made that led me here, and I wish to Amman that I had been more wise. I assumed that I was the one who knew better, and I have found the hard way that I was wrong. All of the rumors I had heard are true, and the pain and torment that I suffer with every day is becoming more and more unbearable. I wish I had the strength to take my own life, but I am too much a coward. I will continue to suffer, becoming a creature of no regard and with little memory of who I was before or am today.

  There is a reason they call it a curse.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Silas

  Silas stayed at Madam Toll's for two days. As promised, he was given a bed to sleep in, a

  warm bath, and a fresh pair of clothes - a blue tunic, brown trousers, knee high doeskin boots, and a sword belt.

  The sword Rappett left him with looked like it had been taken from a graveyard; the hilt

  had bits of rust on it, and the edge was chipped and worn. Even so, when he swung it into the corner of his bedpost, it dug in enough to kill. The thief had also gifted him with a faded black cloak that he claimed used to be his own, before had had given up active jobs and began

  organizing. It was a few inches too short, but it was enough to keep his face shrouded in shadow if needed.

  "Silas, honey, it's time to go," Evelyn said, knocking on his door. He had gotten over his first reaction to the prostitute after she had promised she wouldn't try to sell him on anything, and would keep her hands to herself. It turned out the woman held valuable wisdom based on her experiences, especially when it came to the movements of his soldiers through Root. 'If they don't fall asleep after, they talk,' she had said with a laugh. They had become fast friends.

  Silas cinched the sword belt tight, slid the sword into the leather loop, and opened the

  door. As usual, Evelyn was wearing just enough of something to entice a man to want to see her take it off, but give them enough of an idea of what she had to offer that they would request her in the first place. Silas barely noticed, his mind set on his escape, and his heart somewhere across the sea.

  "I don't even know if she's alive, whoever she is," he muttered to himself.

  "What's that, honey?" Evelyn asked.

  Silas put up his hand. "Nothing. Just talking to myself."

  "You do that a lot," she replied. "Better be careful, people'll start talking." She let out her throaty laugh and leaned in to kiss his cheek. "I'm going to miss having you around. I don't get to talk to many men who don't want to have a roll first."

  Silas put his hand to her cheek, touching it gently. He looked her in the eyes. "Thank you.

  For your ear, and for your insight."

  It had been his conversations with her that had made him decide to head to Elling City.

  For one, the greater population would make it easy for him to disappear. For another, it was the seat of the Overlord, and so there was always ripe information to be had on the movements of his empire.

  "Take care of yourself, Silas," she said, as he walked past her and down the stairs. He passed through the kitchen to the orange door, and pulled it open.

  Rappett was waiting for him. "Silas." He handed him a small leather pouch. "Trevon got me nearly double for the sword. I thought I would share the wealth, to entice you to come back to me if you come across another. I have a feeling you will."

  He hated to admit it, but Silas had a feeling he would also. His intention was to learn

  what he could about him, and then move to put an end to the cruelty of his reign. If that meant killing their ruler, so be it. It was as much as he deserved, for all of the lives he had ordered taken.

  He heard it in his head again.

  Murderer.

  "All the lives I have taken for him," he said softly.

  Rappett didn't seem to hear, he just started walking through the tunnels. "We'll meet up with a man named Barstow on Cistern. He's got a load of grain he's transporting up to Elling. As long as you don't mind spending most of the next night in a burlap sack, you should be able to make it out of Root without drawing attention."

  A few minutes later, they were standing in Rappett's shop, with the thief staring out

  through a crack in the door while wiping his brow with a handkerchief.

  "I feel like those ladders add another rung every week," he whispered. "There's Barstow now. When he gives the signal, make a run for the cart. Jump in the back, find the sack, and get in it. He's going to have to tie it off, and then cover you with a few bags of grain. It's going to be hot, heavy, and hard to breathe." He turned back, his face serious. "There's no guarantee you'll survive."

  Silas understood. "There's a guarantee I won't survive long if I stay in Root. I'll take my chances."

  "I knew you would. I just thought I'd warn you. There's the signal now. Go!"

  Rappett pushed the door open, and Silas took off towards the cart at a run. He saw

  Barstow waiting at the back corner, a large man with long black hair in a white shirt, dark pants, and a leather apron. He waved Silas on as he approached.

  Silas leaped into the back of the cart and found the burlap sack, hopping into it and then

  laying on the floor of the wagon, curling himself up so he could get all the way inside. As soon as his head was covered, he felt Barstow's hands on the sack, wrapping the top and tying it off with a rope. Silas took a deep breath and tried to stay calm. He was at the mercy of the merchant.

  "Just stay as still as you can, Morningstar," Barstow said. "I'm going to toss a few bags on you so the guards at the gate don't get suspicious. Once we're out of sight, I'll get them off and open the sack."

  Silas didn't respond. A second later, he nearly lost his breath when the first bag came

  down on his chest. A second landed on his legs, and a third was placed just next to his head. The burlap was pushed down into his face, and he fought to control his nerves. It was as Rappett had warned, and even he wasn't sure he would survive.

  "Here we go," Barstow said.

  He felt the wagon rock when the man climbed up into the front, and heard him call to his

  horse. The cart began rolling forward, slow at first, and then at a steady trot.

  Nothing would have been fast enough for Silas. He could feel the sweat forming on his

  face, his neck, his chest, and his legs. He could breathe, but it was shallow and labored, and he was sure he wasn't getting enough air to sustain himself indefinitely. They needed to go faster!

  Silas was feeling lightheaded when the wagon rolled to a stop, and he heard the clinking

  of his soldier's armor.

  "All carts require inspection, until the murderer is found," one of them said.

  "Be my guest," Barstow replied. "I hope you catch the bastard what killed the soldiers and disfigured the good Constable."