Then he carefully pulled him to his feet and steadied him. After a moment, he began walking him out of the skrail camp. Kirisin glanced again at the guard, but the guard didn’t move.
“It can’t see you,” Logan Tom whispered.
Kirisin didn’t understand. Then he looked more closely. The skrail’s head was cocked to one side at an unnatural angle. It was dead.
His rescuer put a finger to his lips once more. The strange mottled face and unnaturally bright eyes mirrored something the boy couldn’t quite define. One rough hand reached up to grip his shoulder.
“Leave no footprints,” the Knight of the Word whispered, and his smile was bright and fierce.
TWENTY-ONE
K IRISIN WALKED AWAY from his captivity as if there were nothing to it, as free as the night air, although inwardly he was still grappling with how quickly things had turned around. He followed Logan Tom through the darkness, filled with a mix of relief and gratitude that exceeded anything he could remember. He had been certain of his fate when the skrails had caught him trying to escape, his hopes dashed, his courage gone. He had told himself that Simralin would come for him, but he’d had no real expectation that she would.
No real expectation that anyone would.
But here was Logan Tom, come out of nowhere, finding him when Kirisin knew in his heart that no one could. It was a genuine miracle, and he was so grateful for it that he almost cried.
Logan kept him moving, steadying him as they walked until at last he was able to continue unaided. Some distance farther on, just inside the screen of a grove of withered trees, the Knight of the Word turned aside to retrieve the clothing he had shed earlier. Kirisin stood silently nearby, watching him dress. He took his time, in no apparent hurry, using sleeves torn from his shirt to wipe himself clean of the camouflage paint before slipping back into his clothes. He said nothing to the boy the whole time. When he was finished dressing, he bent down to retrieve his black staff from where it was lying on the ground. It took a moment for Kirisin to realize what that meant, and when he did, he was stunned.
Logan Tom had gone into the skrail camp without his magic to protect him! He had left his staff behind!
The Knight of the Word caught him staring and turned away quickly. “Let’s go, Kirisin.”
They started out again. “Is Sim all right?” the boy asked him. “Has there been any sign of her? Of any of them?”
The other shrugged. “Can’t tell yet. It’s too early to know. Don’t talk. Not until we’re farther away.”
They continued for perhaps another quarter mile before reaching the Ventra 5000, its bulky shape unmistakable even in the darkness. Logan Tom released the locks and alarms, and they climbed inside. Once settled, the Knight of the Word sat staring out into the darkness. Kirisin waited in silence for a moment before speaking.
“How did you find me?” he asked.
“A little bird told me.” Logan looked at him. “You want to know why I didn’t take my staff with me when I came to rescue you.”
He made it a statement of fact. Kirisin started to say that it wasn’t his business, but then simply nodded. Logan stared at him for a moment longer. The joy he had displayed earlier had leached away; all that remained was resignation and weariness. “Maybe later,” he said.
He turned away, started the engine, retracted the wheel locks, put the AV in gear, and slowly pulled away into the night.
They drove for a long time in silence. Kirisin tried not to look at Logan, not to do anything that might upset him. He should have kept his curiosity to himself. Logan Tom had saved his life. He didn’t deserve to be questioned about how he had done it. Certainly not by the boy he had saved. What sort of gratitude was that? Kirisin ground his teeth. He still had not learned when to keep things to himself.
“I’m sorry,” he said finally, unable to stand it any longer. “I shouldn’t have looked at you like that.”
Logan Tom glanced over, then shrugged. “Did the skrails hurt you? Are you all right?” He seemed anxious to change the subject. “You look a little dazed.”
“They knocked me around a bit at first,” the boy answered. “But then the one who controls the skrails conjured up a specter or wraith out of the flames of a fire, and there was this old man. He had eyes . . .” He shook his head. “I’ve never seen eyes like that. So cold. He just stared at me, and I knew he could kill me just by looking at me, if he wanted.”
Logan Tom was suddenly interested. “Did he wear a gray cloak and slouch hat?”
“That’s right. Do you know him?”
Logan hesitated. “A little. What did he do?”
“Asked some questions. He wasn’t happy that I didn’t have the Loden with me.” He paused. “Is it safe? Did Praxia find it?”