He jumped as a hand clapped over his mouth. Suddenly a face pressed close to his, the whiskers rubbing against his cheek, and a voice spoke with stinking breath. “What are you doing, eh, lad? How long’ve you been following me?”
The hand came off his mouth, and Tapel wondered if he should scream. Looking out at the bridge, he saw a drudge-pulled cart crossing the bridge, heading for Altura. Tapel drew in a breath when he felt a sharp point press into his side.
“Don’t even think about it,” the one-eyed man said, his empty eye socket so close that Tapel couldn’t look away from the puckered skin. “Well? What’s your story?”
“I was just hunting in the forest. For mushrooms,” Tapel said. “That’s all.”
The man nodded. His eye-socket was wrinkled and wept fluid. “Hunting mushrooms. And where’s your bag? Show me some mushrooms.”
“I . . . I haven’t found any yet,” Tapel said weakly.
“Who are you? Who’s going to miss you?”
“No one,” Tapel whimpered. “I’m nobody.”
“Good,” said the one-eyed man.
He clapped his hand back over Tapel’s mouth and dragged him through the forest while Tapel writhed and wriggled. Tapel’s heart threatened to leap out of his chest, it was pounding so strongly. Fear filled his limbs, and he felt weak as he was hauled forcefully through the trees, heading downriver, in a southerly direction following the riverbank. Soon Tapel smelled smoke and saw a campsite in the trees.
Two rough-looking men sat around a fire while a third man with a tattoo on his neck tended it, adding fuel. One of the seated men had a sword across his knees that he was sharpening with slow circular movements. The other seated figure was a scrawny brigand with a shaved head.
The tattooed man at the fire looked up. “You bring the wine . . . Whoa! What’ve you got there?”
“Street kid followed me here,” the one-eyed man said, gripping Tapel tightly.
“What’s he, dinner?” said the man sharpening his sword.
The tattooed man at the fire barked a laugh.
“He’s going to have to stay with us, at least ’til the job’s done,” said the one-eyed man.
“Just kill him.” The swordsman shrugged.
“Hold on there,” said the scrawny man. “I’m not in the business of killing children.”
“It’s not so hard after the first one,” said the swordsman.
Tapel felt ragged terror course through him, sending shivers down his spine.
“Benji, throw me some rope,” said the one-eyed man. The man at the fire, Benji, rummaged around the campsite and then tossed over a hemp rope. The one-eyed man deftly caught the length of twine in the air.
The one-eyed man bound Tapel’s wrists and then threw him to the ground. Pushing down on Tapel’s back, he also tied Tapel’s ankles together. Tapel could scream, but out here no one would hear.
Tapel wriggled until he could rest his back against a fallen tree trunk. “Who . . . who are you?” he asked.
“Your worst nightmare,” Benji said, grinning at Tapel as he pulled a dagger from his belt, brandishing his weapon.
“Seriously, Brin,” said the swordsman to the one-eyed man. “We should kill him. What are you planning on doing, feeding him? Feel like adopting an urchin?”
“He can earn his keep,” the one-eyed man, Brin, said.
“How?” asked the seated scrawny man.
“Our job is to keep an eye on the tower. If it lights up, we knock it down. Right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well I’ve got a better idea. Check this out. I’ve got a surprise.” Brin rummaged in his knapsack and withdrew a glass pyramid. “I ordered this when I was last in Sarostar and picked it up today. If we swap the real prism for a false one, our job is done.”
“Our orders are to watch and only knock it down if it lights green,” the scrawny man growled. “Who’s to say they won’t know as soon as we’ve broken the chain? What do we know of lore?”
“Hang on, Sebastian,” Benji said to the scrawny man. “I want to hear this out.” Benji left the fire and came over to crouch beside Tapel. “How’s your climbing, boy?” he said.
Tapel realized his life hung in the balance. “Good.”
“See?” Brin said. “We’ve been sleeping in shifts to keep an eye on the tower. Dan’s bringing three more men, but that won’t help much. If we swap the prisms, no one will be the wiser, and we can get some proper sleep for a change. The boy can help. Tonight.”
“All right, Brin,” the swordsman said. “We’ll try it your way. Tonight.”
The swordsman kicked Tapel awake well before dawn. The night was as black as pitch. Tapel groaned. Tied as he was, he’d had the most uncomfortable night of his life. His back ached and now his stomach hurt from the kick. If he’d eaten, he would have been sick.