David Coe - Shapers of Darkness

The man laughed aloud. “Ye did. All b’ yerself.”

“Yes.”

He kept his eyes fixed on those of the brigand, and gradually the man’s laughter faded. “Did th’ Qirsi help ye wi’ tha’, too?”

“No.” Tavis hesitated. It was one thing to tell the man he had killed Cadel; it was quite another to claim that he had done it without any help. But how did he explain his strange confrontation with Brienne’s killer? How did he justify killing Cadel after the assassin had lowered his blade? “I’m not sure how it happened really. The assassin. .” He shook his head, deciding in the end that this brigand didn’t deserve any more of an explanation. “I was just lucky.”

The man narrowed his eyes. “Yer a strange ’un, lad. No’ like most nobles I’ve known.” He sheathed the blade and turned away. “Give ’em some food an’ water,” he said to the nearest of the twins.

“ ’E looks well fed t’ me. ’E can go withou’ fer a time.”

The leader lunged for him, grabbing a handful of the man’s hair and pulling his face close to his own. “I said give ’im some.” He shoved the twin away, making him stumble. The man glared at him for a moment, hatred in his eyes. Then he tossed two pieces of dried meat onto the grass just in front of Tavis.

“How am I supposed to eat with my hands bound?”

The twin leered at him. “Ye can eat it like a dog, noble.”

The others laughed, including the leader. Tavis just turned his face away. No doubt there would come a time later in the day when his hunger got the better of his pride, but for now he left the meat where it was.

“Sounds like we’re having a rough time of it.”

Tavis’s eyes flew to Grinsa’s face. “Gods be praised!” he said, his voice a breathless whisper.

“Shhh.” The gleaner’s eyes were still closed, and he kept his voice so low that Tavis had to lean closer just to hear him. “What’s happened?”

“What do you remember?”

“The storm. Riding back to the cluster of boulders.”

“That’s where we are now.”

“There was a lightning strike. My mount reared. I recall nothing after that.”

“You fell, hit your head on a stone. You’ve been unconscious ever since. It seems the cluster of boulders is used as a shelter by these brigands.”

“Not one of my better ideas, eh? When was that?”

“Just yesterday. How do you feel?”

“Ay! Who’s ’e talkin’ to?” the tall brigand called before Grinsa could answer.

The nearest of the twins strode toward them. “Th’ whitehair’s awake!”

“You’re Fotir!” Tavis whispered quickly.

“What?”

The lord had no time to explain. The twin grabbed Grinsa by the collar and hoisted him into a sitting position. The gleaner let out a groan, making Tavis wonder if he was trying to fool the brigands into thinking that he was worse off than he really was. A moment later, though, Grinsa vomited down the front of his cloak. The twin took a step back.

The leader approached slowly, his blade drawn, and his eyes fixed on the gleaner.

“Ye don’ look well, Minister,” the man said. “Th’ lad will tell ye tha’ if ye stay still, an’ don’ do nothin’ foolish, ye won’ get hurt. Otherwise, I’ll kill ye. Understan’?”

Grinsa gave a small nod, then gingerly leaned his head back against the stone.

“With any luck, yer lord will pay a ransom fer both o’ ye, and we’ll be done. If no’. .” He shrugged.

“Water?” the gleaner asked weakly.

The brigand eyed him, frowning slightly. At last he nodded and walked away. “Give ’im some water,” he said over his shoulder. “An’ watch ’im.”

The same twin who had given Tavis the food carried over one of the water skins. He looked like he might just throw it down as he had the meat, but he appeared to realize that wouldn’t work in this case. He glanced at the leader, opened his mouth to say something, then clamped it shut again. In the end, he squatted down in front of the gleaner, a sour look on his face, and held the skin as Grinsa drank.

After he had moved off a short distance, Tavis asked again, “How do you feel?”

“Terrible.”

“Can you heal yourself?”

“I don’t dare try.”

“Why not?”

“Qirsi magic is controlled with the mind. My head’s been injured. Trying to heal myself would be like a surgeon operating on himself with a dulled blade. Given time, I should recover. But I’d prefer to find a healer, one of my own kind.”

“So what are we supposed to do?”

“You’ve kept us alive so far. I trust you’ll think of something.”

“Grinsa-”

“I may be able to shatter a blade or two, Tavis, but beyond that I can’t help you. I’m sorry.”

The young lord glanced at the brigands, who were largely ignoring them. “You shouldn’t apologize. I’ve just. . I’ve been waiting for you to wake up. .” He shook his head. “Never mind. When the time comes, shatter their limbs, not their blades. They’re carrying our weapons.”

Grinsa smiled weakly, his eyes closed again.

“Can you do anything to the ropes?”

“No. Shaping magic works best on something harder-stone, steel, rock. I can burn the ropes, but they’ll notice that.”

Tavis simply nodded, and the two of them fell into a lengthy silence. After a time, the gleaner’s breathing slowed, and Tavis guessed that he had fallen asleep. With nothing better to do, he closed his eyes as well.

He awoke with a start when someone kicked his foot. His arms and back were aching and his stomach felt sour and hollow.

“Wake up, noble.” The leader’s voice.

“I’m awake,” he said blinking his eyes against the light. The sun was just overhead, warming the boulders and grasses within the shelter.

The brigand nodded toward Grinsa. “Is ’e well ’nough t’ move?”

“Why? Where are we going?”

“I’m askin’ th’ questions, noble. Can ’e move?”

Tavis faltered, addled with sleep, and unsure of whether he and Grinsa would have a better chance of escaping if they remained where they were.

“I can move,” Grinsa said, his voice sounding stronger than it had earlier.

Tavis glanced at him, their eyes meeting. “Are you certain?”

A smile flitted across his face. “No. But I’ll try.”

Clearly the gleaner thought they’d have a better chance in open country. Tavis was in no position to argue.

“I should check his bandage before we go anywhere,” the young lord said. Perhaps if they untied him now. .

“No.” The brigand was eyeing them both with obvious distrust. “ ’Is bandage is fine. We’ll b’ goin’ soon.” He glanced at the strips of dried meat still lying on the ground in front of Tavis. “Ye better eat now. There’ll be nothin’ else ’til nightfall.” With that he walked away.

“Where do you think we’re going?” Tavis asked in a whisper, as the leader began to speak with the others in his band.

“They’re brigands. They probably have hiding places like this one all over the highlands, and I doubt they remain at any one of them for more than a night or two.”

“But they just arrived here this morning.”

“Yes, and they found us. They probably expect the Glyndwr army to turn up any time now.”

Tavis shrugged, conceding the point. “You’re better?”

“A bit, yes. Though I still don’t know how much magic I can chance.”

“Quiet! Both o’ ye!”

“Shaping will be still be hard,” Grinsa said, his voice dropping even further. “But maybe-”

“I told ye t’ be quiet!” the leader said, drawing Tavis’s sword and striding toward them. “I wan’ ye both alive, but tha’ don’ mean I can’ add t’ yer scars, noble, or take out th’ minister’s eyes. Now shut yer mouths!” He turned to look at the others. “I wan’ ’em kept apart, an’ I don’ wan’ ’em untied. We’ll put ’em across th’ horses’ backs.”