Lawrence Watt-Evans - In the Empire of Shadow

“Think you he tempted the gods, then?” Raven asked, peering out from under the dripping cloak he held over his head.

“Something like that,” Sawyer agreed. He had stolen another farmer’s cap that morning, but it was clearly not doing him much good in the steady downpour.

Raven shook his head. “The foolishness of you pagans,” he said. “To think our mere words could thus affect the Goddess’ scheme.”

“You’re calling me a pagan?” Sawyer exclaimed angrily. He stopped and grabbed Raven by the arm.

Raven turned and struck at Sawyer without thinking; Pel saw him start to wince, and then suppress it, as his mostly-healed but still tender fingers hit Sawyer’s wrist.

Sawyer saw it, too, and let go. “Sorry,” he said.

“’Tis naught,” Raven said. “I spoke ill of your faith; ’twas rude of me.”

By now the entire party had stopped; Pel and Raven and Sawyer had been at the front, and the others were now gathered about them, sinking into the mud of the road.

“Oh, come on,” Amy said. “If we keep going maybe we can find somewhere to get out of the rain.” She turned and trudged onward; she limped slightly, thanks to popped blisters, but seemed to be over her illness. Susan followed her lead, tugging at Ted’s wrist to make sure he came, as well.

Prossie, who had been near the center of the line talking to Valadrakul, turned to look over the party, and Pel saw her frown.

Sawyer, too, noticed her expression, and looked over the rest of the group.

“Hey,” he said, “where’s Ron?”

“Who?” Pel asked.

“Ronnie Wilkins.”

Amy and Susan and Ted kept walking, unaware of the consternation as the others all turned and looked around.

“He’s gone,” Marks said, sounding very surprised. He took off his helmet to look around better, and blinked as the rain drenched him.

“When did you last see him?” Pel asked.

The others glanced at one another.

“At that last village, I guess,” Sawyer said. “Just before it started raining.”

“He was with us when we left the village,” Singer said unsteadily; he was cradling his swollen left wrist in his right hand. The badger scratches he had received back at Castle Regisvert had become infected, and Valadrakul’s crude attempts at treatment had done little good; Pel had thought it amusing, or ironic, or at any rate worthy of note, that scratches left by an ordinary badger had turned out to be septic, while the various wounds he and Prossie and Amy had gotten from Shadow’s hellbeasts were all healing cleanly.

Maybe ordinary germs couldn’t live on Shadow’s unnatural creatures.

“I did a count,” Singer added. “I know he was with us.”

“He was here,” Marks confirmed.

“How long after that, though?” Pel asked.

Singer shrugged. “That was the last time I saw him,” he said. “He was way at the back.” He looked at Marks. “I thought he was talking to you.”

“He was, for awhile,” Marks agreed. “But then he said he wanted to think, so I left him alone and came up to talk to Sawyer.”

“I remember that,” Sawyer said. “So no one’s seen him since then?”

No one had.

“D’you think the monsters got him?” Sawyer asked. “Shadow’s things? Or maybe something else, some other magic?”

Singer snorted derisively; Raven smiled.

Valadrakul shook his head. “I doubt ’twas Shadow.”

“I think he must’ve just left,” Pel said. “He decided not to come with us, and didn’t bother to argue about it.”

“He decided not to walk into a trap,” Prossie said quietly. “Not when he isn’t one of the ones it wants.”

The others stared at her for a moment; then Marks said bitterly, “And the son of a bitch didn’t ask me to come with him, either!”

“Or any of us,” Sawyer pointed out.

“Probably figured he had a better shot by himself,” Singer suggested wearily. “Probably right, too.”

“Well, he’s gone, now,” Pel said. He turned, without another word, and began marching onward, following Amy and Susan and Ted.

“We aren’t going to try to find him?” Singer asked.

“Why should we?” Pel called back over his shoulder. “He’s a big boy; he can take care of himself.”

“And where would you seek him?” Raven asked. “’Tis a broad land, and he’s had time to conceal himself where’er he would.”

Singer blinked at him, then said, “Yeah, you’re right.” He trudged after Pel.

After a moment’s hesitation, the rest came close behind.

* * * *

“I’m going to bunk,” Marks whispered.

Prossie turned, startled.

“Like Ronnie,” Marks explained. “He was right; why should we all get killed? This Shadow thing probably just wants Raven and his wizard pal, or maybe the Earthpeople.”

Prossie glanced around. They were in open country now, a low, grassy plain where no trees grew, much of it too sodden to farm; the highway wound its way along the higher, drier portions, past the dreary little farms that mostly seemed to raise various sorts of berries. They hadn’t passed anything resembling a village for several miles, and their last meal had been nothing but stolen raspberries-sweet, but not very satisfying.

“Where will you go?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he said. “It all looks pretty much the same, so who cares?”

Prossie was considering that when Marks asked anxiously, “So, Thorpe, are you with me?”

“Who else are you asking?” Prossie asked.

“Nobody,” Marks replied hastily. “I mean, I figured you and I, we could make like we’re married, if anyone asks…”

She knew what he meant. Prossie looked at him more closely, considering.

Bill Marks was hardly her idea of the perfect mate; he was of medium height, not particularly well built, with a receding chin and a bad complexion-not really ugly, but not anyone’s image of handsome, either. She didn’t doubt for a minute that he wanted to carry the fiction of a marriage a little further than answers to questions from nosy natives. The notion did not particularly appeal to her. With the right person, maybe, but not with Bill Marks.

Hell, he didn’t even call her by her first name.

“What about Singer and Sawyer?” she asked.

“What about them?” Marks asked, flustered.

Prossie looked him in the eye, then turned and looked at the others, a dozen yards ahead.

“Well, you know,” Marks said, a little desperately, “Singer’s got that bad arm, and besides, the more of us there are, the more likely we’ll be noticed, you know, by Shadow or someone…”

“Never mind,” she said. “I think I’ll take my chances with the rest of them, at least for now. You go ahead, and good luck!”

Marks hesitated. “You sure?” he asked.

“Yes,” Prossie answered firmly.

She was sure of her decision-but she wished she was sure she was right.

* * * *

Pel turned, startled, at a tap on his shoulder, and found Prossie Thorpe just behind him.

“Mr. Brown,” she said quietly, without preamble, “I was wondering just what your opinion was on Wilkins.”

“My opinion?” Pel glanced around; no one else seemed to be paying any attention. He had half expected to see Nancy glaring at him for talking to another woman this way, but Nancy was dead, she wasn’t with them. “My opinion is that he’s gone,” Pel said. “What do you mean, my opinion?”

“I mean, do you think he got away safely?”

Pel shrugged. “I don’t know. He probably did, but I don’t know any more than you do. Maybe less, if your telepathy can tell you anything.”

“Not about that,” Prossie said. “I still hear from Base One sometimes, but they’ve written us all off as lost.”