There was a chuckle from one of the other men. “You just want to get back to Holly’s. Admit it. If you’re so banned impatient, why didn’t you just bring her along...”
The man stuttered when a knife landed between his legs. Thealos blinked, having barely seen Tannon’s reflexes. He was a heavy man, but he threw a knife like a whip-snap. Tannon frowned and planted his fist on his hip. “That’s enough, Beck.” They were quiet for a few moments. “You know why we’re out here. We looked through that banned snag of maple for a week. Now, let’s see what we’ve got to show for it. Open up the sack again. Show us the sash.”
Thealos craned his neck, staring closer. He saw one of the muddied soldiers withdraw a Crimson Wolfsmen sash. Thealos started, blinking with surprise. Surely these men couldn’t have taken down one of the Shae defenders. It was impossible! Slipping from behind the tree, he started creeping closer. He could see the others around the crackling fire, each offering something to the stash, something they had found during their search. Thealos wanted to get closer to get a feel for what they had found. Whose side were these men on? He’d heard the Bandit Rebellion wore black and gold – well, at least the officers did. Were these men from Dos-Aralon? He didn’t know, but he wanted to find out, especially if they were baiting Shae and killing them. Drawing closer, Thealos crouched and waited, studying each individually. One held up a smooth battle dagger, the hilt tarnished, but Thealos recognized the slant of the blade. It belonged to a Crimson Wolfsman. He scowled at the humans for the irreverent way they touched such an elegant weapon.
The one tending the fire had reddish brown hair and a long nose. He bent over a small cauldron of stew and he tasted it eagerly and then fanned his mouth. Slipping a bodkin arrow out of his quiver, Thealos fit it to the tight bowstring. He wanted to be ready just in case…
“In the trees!” someone shouted from his right side. “Over there! He’s got a bow!”
Ban! Thealos cursed silently. He needed a diversion now. Dropping to one knee, he raised the bow and firmly pulled the arrow back to his ear. Thealos let it fly. The arrow hissed into the mass of burning logs. Sparks and cinders exploded in a spray, knocking the cook back with a howl of fright. He brushed the glowing embers off his leather tunic and stumbled back from the flames.
“There!” Hoth pointed, drawing his weapon – a notched polearm with a jagged cleaver. The soldiers spread out, rushing from the fire’s perimeter as if live ants were biting their ankles. Before Thealos could rise and back away, he heard a shutter click and then a beacon of light fell on his face and chest. Tannon held up the lantern and scanned Thealos warily. It was time to run. These weren’t just soldiers, they were thieves.
“The eyes!”
Behind him, Thealos heard the quiet crunch of leaves before a knobbed mace struck the back of his head.
V
Pain and nausea soaked through Thealos in waves. He struggled to open his eyes. How long he’d been unconscious, he didn’t know. As his sight came into focus, it took a moment to realize that he was laying on his side, looking at the blazing white tongues of the campfire. He tried to sit up, but found he had nothing to prop himself up with. His arms were bound behind him, the ropes digging into his wrists. Dirt and bark shavings painfully cushioned the side of his face. Blinking, he struggled to move and found himself helpless. His ankles were also tied.
“He’s awake.”
A fit of panic nearly overwhelmed him, but he forced it down. He had never been in bonds before. Rolling onto his back, he tried to sit up. His head swam with dizziness and he thought he might throw up.
“You hit him pretty hard, Cropper,” the one they called Tannon said with a half-smile. “Thought we’d have another dead Shaden on our hands.”
“He wasn’t very good,” came the reply. Cropper was a thin, spidery man with sack-wheat colored hair and livid eyes. “No Wolfsman anyway.”
“Could have been,” Tannon said. “Could have been a Sleepwalker too. Good work.”
The others were asleep around the fire, their faces filthy and haggard. They smelled like Silvan wine. His mouth went dry. Thealos’ clothes were rumpled, his pockets empty. His travel sack lay in a heap, the supplies he had thoughtfully packed were already spilled out and shared. A cold, growing fury started to ball up in his chest.
Tannon studied him. “You didn’t know what you were doin’, did you, boy?”
Thealos fought to sit up and nearly sank back down with the effort. “That depends,” he answered.
“Hmmm?”
Thealos knew he’d have to be careful with what he said. But he was the son of a barter, and he knew how to twist things to his advantage with words. “I saw your camp, Tannon.” He gave the thickset man a cunning look. “At first I wanted to share your fire. But when I saw your little collection, I thought I’d help you.”