Huge trees stretched their shadows across the Iron Point Road. A blanket of low-hanging clouds wore away by mid-morning, and only then the sun touched the road. The noontide sun bathed them with light for only a quarter-hour before the other wall of vine maple and cedar obstructed it. The Shadows Wood smelled of dust and cottonthistle, and there was scarcely a breeze. The road had been cleared of dense scrub and pine — just wide enough to permit wagons and travelers. Clumps of witch-thorn and wildflowers choked the sides of the road.
Thealos was lost in his thoughts as he walked. He remembered what Jaerod had told them that morning if the Sorian decided to confront them. Leave that to me. Thealos was impressed with his confidence, the way he accepted the danger and determined to face it anyway. Sleepwalkers had been killed by Sorian. Jaerod had intimated that much. But was this Sorian good enough to kill Jaerod? Thealos swore under his breath. He hoped to Keasorn not. In his mind, he remembered his last night in Avisahn when Nordain demanded that he choose a calling. Thealos now knew what he wanted most. He wanted to be a Sleepwalker. He wanted it more than anything. The benefit he could be to the Shae – and especially to Laisha Silverborne as she assumed the throne when her father died. A Sleepwalker could go anywhere and not be seen – could face down Crimson Wolfsmen without weapons. Jaerod had scattered a group of Kiran Thall – nearly alone. It was Sturnin who had insisted on fighting alongside him. And hadn’t Jaerod gone to Avisahn looking for someone like Thealos? Hadn’t he said that they were more alike than Thealos realized?
He stared down the road at the Sleepwalker, amazed that he left no trail of bootprints to follow.
XXV
Dujahn of the Gray Legion took a quick gulp from his cup of lukewarm ale. He set it down and rubbed his bloodshot eyes, listening to Hallstoy tear into him again. It was the middle of another sweltering night, and he’d only gotten a few hours of sleep the previous evening.
“You tell that banned woman I want her out of my camp!” Hallstoy bellowed. “Sorian or not, she’s caused enough problems. Tsyrke will be here in another day or two, and another Sorian with him! If that bleeding harlot is still here by then, she’ll rue it for sure. Do I make myself clear, Dujahn?”
Dujahn looked up at the Bandit colonel. “If you’re too afraid to say it, I can tell her whatever you wish, Hallstoy. But she will leave when she is ready. Not before.”
“The men were just fine until she came. Now every other man has the gut-sickness and a bout of tide fever is hitting us!”
“You’re camped in the middle of a swamp!” Dujahn said, exasperated. “Of course there is going to be tide fever!”
“We were here before she arrived,” Hallstoy said. “And we have all the tobac and juttleberry to handle a campaign. But now half the army is sick and in need of a healer. The whole banned Zerite cult couldn’t cure all of us! You’re a blind half-wit if you don’t believe she’s done this. I want her out of my camp.”
“Tell her yourself.”
They glared at each other. Dujahn watched fear and anger battle across the colonel’s face. He didn’t care. If he never set foot in the Shadows Wood again, he’d consider his life blessed. His voice was low so that the other duty officers wouldn’t hear. “You’re afraid of her, colonel. That’s healthy. There are worse things than gut-sickness.”
Hallstoy’s expression went flat. “Get out of my tent.”
“Gladly,” Dujahn replied. He pushed away from the table and started for the opening of the tent door when shouts of alarm rose up in the camp.
“Sweet hate, what now?” Hallstoy said.
Dujahn opened the flap and was nearly knocked over by a Kiran Thall barging in. “Colonel! We’re under attack!”
Dujahn blinked with surprise. “What did you say?”
A horn blurted in the darkness, several long heavy blats that caused a collective groan from the mass of writhing men. Yells and shrieks from the camp spurted up all around.
“The pickets were breached,” the Kiran Thall gasped. “A dozen dead already. Some say the knights of Owen Draw – others claim they’ve seen the Shae. Half of the dead are from arrow wounds, Colonel. They’re moving through the camp too quickly. Must be Crimson Wolfsmen – it’s the only thing that makes sense!”
Dujahn staggered outside, watching the mass of teeming soldiers coming awake in the middle of a midnight raid. His heart slammed against his ribs, catching fire with the smell of smoke and fear in the air. The soldiers were panicking. If Hallstoy didn’t quell it, they’d start attacking each other before long.
“Colonel!” Dujahn said, turning back into the tent. “It’s a small force. Less than a dozen, no doubt. Maybe Wolfsmen, maybe they want us to think that. They’re going to hit the south pickets. Send your forces there – quickly!”
“How do you know?”
“This is my profession, you fool,” Dujahn snapped, rushing from the tent to warn Miestri.
*