The second, assertive voice spoke again—Brin, the other man had called him. “If we’re careful . . . two weeks at the current rate.”
“Two weeks,” the gruff voice said. “That’s not long.”
“Think about it like this,” Brin said. “If the city calms down, we can get more food. If it doesn’t, and they’re attacked, they’ll light the signal, and we can watch to see they don’t catch onto the ruse. Then we can go.”
Ruse? Bartolo felt a shiver course through his body.
“Either way, Brin, our supply of food is limited,” the gruff voice said. “We should kill the boy.”
Bartolo’s blood ran cold.
“He’s just a boy,” Brin said.
“We can’t let him go,” the high-pitched voice said. “Kill him.”
“Fine,” Brin said. “But I’m not going to watch. Throw the body in the river.”
Bartolo heard the sound of scraping steel.
20
Bartolo took a deep breath, and forgetting about silence, he whirled around the tree and shot forward. He immediately took in the scene. Four men sat around a fire. Tapel lay trussed on the ground, bound and gagged. Bartolo called on the power of his zenblade, seeing the symbols inscribed in the metal spark along its length.
The bandits shot to their feet.
“Bladesinger!” a man with a sword cried.
Bartolo dashed in and easily dodged a clumsy blow from the swordsman to strike at the man’s chest. The zenblade barely paused as it carved through from the man’s armpit to the other side of his body. Bartolo then ducked a blow from an axe to thrust into a second, scrawny man’s throat. He saw a one-eyed man look at Tapel and then turn and run.
“Stop him!” Bartolo called.
The fourth bandit knelt at the fire and picked up a burning brand. He came at Bartolo with wild eyes, swinging as he sent sparks flying through the air. Bartolo tried to counter without killing his opponent, but the man’s clumsy attack brought him too close, and he went down with a cry as Bartolo’s blade sliced his side.
The one-eyed man ran with arms pumping, darting through the trees, and then Bartolo saw the ferryman, Fergus, rush to intercept him. Both went down in a tangle of limbs.
“Keep him alive!” Bartolo cried.
Fergus struggled with the bandit but was knocked back. The one-eyed man’s fist smashed into Fergus’s cheek, and Fergus lost him as he sped away once more.
Bartolo dashed after him and saw his two recruits ahead as they sped after the bandit, following the river. The boys were young, and at the peak of fitness. The one-eyed man looked over his shoulder and saw them gaining on him.
The bandit veered to the left, but Timo rushed in to meet him. He then tried dashing to the right, but Martin was coming in fast. Turning back to the left, he had his eyes on Timo and not on where his wild run was taking him.
With a cry the one-eyed man plunged over the cliff, falling headlong into the river. His flailing body vanished from sight.
Bartolo groaned; even if the bandit survived, they would never find him. He rushed back to the camp and knelt beside Tapel’s bound form. “Lad, are you hurt?”
Tapel groaned and Bartolo scowled when he saw bruises on the boy’s face. He cut through the bonds and swiftly checked Tapel for wounds.
“The signaling tower,” Tapel gasped. “They switched the prism. They made me help.”
“Slow down,” Bartolo said.
Fergus, Martin, and Timo arrived at the fire. The two recruits began to search the camp.
“There are four pallets. That’s all of them,” Martin said.
Tapel rubbed at his wrists. “They said more would be coming, but none did.”
Bartolo thought about the four men who’d ambushed Jehral. The Hazaran had said he’d killed them all. “Tell me about the prism.”
“The crystal on the tower is made of glass. It’s a fake.”
Bartolo swore. Hearing movement behind him, he turned and saw Dorian approach with his three recruits.
“What happened?” Dorian said.
“We got them.” Bartolo indicated the bodies. “One jumped into the river.”
“Who were they?”
“Tapel?” Bartolo asked.
“They were Tingarans,” Tapel said, “from Seranthia. They didn’t say who they worked for, but they weren’t from the Legion. I think they might have had something to do with the streetclans. They didn’t want Altura getting aid from Tingara. They wanted to prevent a distress call from getting through.”
“But why do it here?” Dorian said. “Why not closer to Tingara?”
“I think I know why,” Bartolo said grimly. “There are two critical stations: this one at Samson’s Bridge and the tower at Wondhip Pass. The one here links Altura to all of the lands in the north and the east: Halaran, Vezna, Torakon, Loua Louna, Tingara, and Aynar—even the Akari via the station at Lake Vor. The station at Wondhip Pass links Altura to Petrya and the Hazara Desert. If a signal reached Torakon or even Halaran, word might still have reached Tingara by courier. That’s why here.”