‘Outside of not letting me in?’ Crag shrugged. ‘I gave a list of my wares to one of those fellows in the red smocks. No interest in the usual stuff – silk, spices, pots, pans. Nope. Just wanted the palm vine and dragon’s blood.’
‘Why is that strange?’
‘Palm vine is an older name – most folk ask for rattan. The dragon’s blood, though? That’s strange. Few folk this far south know of the stuff, let alone that it’s naught but tree sap.’
‘So why carry it then?’
‘Because it’s rare. Folk that know to ask for it also know its price – except maybe you – so I can usually get a few sunbeams out of it.’
‘And is that a fair price?’ Annev asked, keeping an eye out for a suitable weapon.
‘For four bottles?’ Crag laughed. ‘Fair for me, maybe.’
Annev smiled, his suspicions confirmed. The man had been trying to swindle him. The knowledge eased his conscience a little as he waited for the right time to kill him.
‘So this Sodar,’ Crag continued. ‘He taught you to count coin?’ Annev nodded. ‘Taught you to haggle, too. What’s his trade? Shopkeep? Horse-lord?’
Annev laughed. ‘Nothing like that.’
‘Oh, I’ve said something amusing, have I? Hmm. Must be a priest then, which would make you his deacon. Yes?’
Annev’s pace faltered for a moment as he fumbled for a response. ‘I … why would you guess that?’
Crag nodded at Annev’s tunic. ‘Most common folk wear a splash of colour. Only the pious and the poor wear naught but beige.’ He eyed Annev’s single patchwork glove for a moment, then discounted it. ‘I doubt your master’s a beggar, so that leaves the priesthood – though I suppose you could still work for the men in the red pyjamas. It’s not uncommon to force novitiates to wear plain homespun.’ He peered over at Annev. ‘Either of those hit the mark?’
Annev grunted, surprised by the man’s perceptiveness and wondering if it were wise to keep answering his questions. The merchant was too cunning by half, and Annev worried he might puzzle out his dark intentions. They rolled forward in awkward silence, the trees growing denser as they lurched through the Brakewood.
‘I’m a deacon,’ Annev finally said, breaking the silence. ‘Sort of a deacon,’ he added. ‘It’s complicated.’
‘Well then. Not another word about it.’ Crag nodded in sympathy, the push-bar bouncing beneath his belly. ‘Let me ask you this instead.’ He paused. ‘What does a “sort of deacon” do?’
Annev peered sideways at Cragcarac, wondering if the man was daft. Did he even hear what I said? Crag caught the look and returned it with a wicked grin.
The man was teasing him.
In spite of himself Annev grinned back. It was clear the merchant wasn’t going to give up, and Annev couldn’t complete the final part of his task until he spotted a weapon, so they were heading farther into the Brakewood. One way or another, it seemed he would have to make conversation with the man. He pointed to a spot up ahead where a tiny path broke off from the main road. ‘This is the trail.’
The two worked together to pull the cart off the main path, trudging through the wet moss and underbrush, up over a dark mound of topsoil, and then sliding to the bottom of the small hill with the great wooden box creaking and jouncing behind them. The bushes clustered closer together and, as they pressed on, the footpath became little more than a game trail, winding ever deeper into the heart of the forest.
‘How far is it?’ Crag asked.
‘Hard to say. The forest really does play tricks on you. I’ve walked this path maybe a dozen times, and every time it’s different.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘At one hour of the day, you might reach the Brake Road in as little as an hour, maybe two. But if you try and cut through at other times … well, it could take several hours.’
Crag huffed, pushing hard on the hand-rail as he drew the cart over a thick shrub obstructing the path. ‘You mean the paths change?’
‘No,’ Annev said. ‘Not exactly. They just … lengthen, as if you were walking slower somehow. The path is the same but … it just takes longer.’ Crag pondered Annev’s words as they rolled farther down the path, following a sharp bend in the trail.
‘You ever get lost?’ Crag asked.
‘All the time – even north of here, where I usually go hunting – but you learn the forest’s landmarks. The way it breathes and moves, where the clearings are and where the main paths connect. It gets easier, but it’s never easy.’
‘Any notion as to why it does that?’
Annev shrugged. ‘It used to be part of the Vosgar – and there’s plenty of magic there – maybe something got left in the Brake … some magic that makes the shadows seem more alive.’
‘You seem to know a lot about it.’
‘I know enough to avoid the dark places where the trees grow close.’
‘Dark places?’
Annev nodded. ‘Places where leaves and branches knit into a black sheet and no light comes through the canopy. It’s dark as pitch, but somehow things still manage to grow there. If you’re standing outside the shadows, they almost look like black pools of water.’
‘You’ve taken a peek, though?’ Crag asked knowingly.
A crooked grin spread across Annev’s face. ‘Once or twice. I’m supposed to report any I see, though – and not to go near them. They say it’s dangerous.’
‘Sounds like your elders tell you not to do a lot of things. And you be doin’ them anyway.’
Annev’s cheeks glowed red – not from embarrassment, but from the bitter embers of his anger at Tosan and the Academy. ‘Well, some of the rules make no sense!’ he said, taking the opportunity to vent. ‘We’re not allowed to leave, but the ancients and masters can come and go whenever they want. They tell us how to dress and what to eat and where to go, and punish us if we don’t do exactly as they say. They act like they’re better than everyone else – as if the world is full of thieves and murderers – but they’re just as bad. And now …’ He trailed off.
‘Now?’
And now I’m here to kill you, so that I can become one of them. The clarity of the thought made Annev sick. He was stuck in the Brakewood with evening approaching, pushing a wagon through weeds and muck with the man he was supposed to kill. He shouldn’t even be talking to Crag – he should already be walking back with the man’s ears in his pocket – yet Annev trudged on, sharing Crag’s load.
‘Nothing,’ Annev said, looking away.
Crag nodded as though he’d heard it all before.
‘We all have to follow rules at some point, lad. Things aren’t much rosier on the outside. Downright rotten if you ask me. Dark things comin’ outta the east, and the nobles in Borderlund are too busy squabblin’ to do aught about it – and don’t get me started on Luq’ra and Quiri! Den o’ thieves, both of ’em. Like that song they sing in pubs. “In Quiri the thieves all wear cassocks, and in Luq’ra they all wear hose”. You know the one?’ Crag looked at Annev but the boy just shook his head. ‘No, of course you don’t. My point is you got a lot of rules here, but you got a nice place, too. Seems you’re not starvin’, or bein’ set upon by bandits ’n’ such. Maybe followin’ a few rules isn’t so bad.’