NINETEEN
IN THE PREDAWN hours, the caravan clattered into movement. Guardsmen shouted and vendors cheered as horse hooves clopped the packed dirt. The larger wagon wheels had been folded up, allowing the smaller set to run along the grooves of the old railroads. A deep, metallic hum filled the air.
Trains, of course, hadn’t been used in one hundred years—not since magic was banned—but the Indigo Kingdom had found a way to make the old tracks useful anyway. The route curved around the Midvale Ridge; autumn washed down from those heights, all red and gold and russet. On foot, the journey to West Pass Watch took two days, with an extra half day added for the wagons.
I was assigned to the rear guard, following in the caravan’s dust. Lovely. But I kept my silence and mimicked the way the men walked, one hand on my stolen sword as though I could cut down anyone if they dared threaten the merchandise. The sword wasn’t my best weapon, but it was a requirement for this job.
The other men chatted amicably as morning wore on, discussing the rations they’d brought and the previous guard work they’d done. Many, it seemed, had made a habit of working as hired guards, and knew one another well. It paid better than the Indigo Army; that much I knew.
“What brought you here, boy?” one of the men asked.
I shrugged and let my voice fall deeper—but not so much that it sounded like I was a girl pretending to be a boy. “It’s work.” The words rattled around in my chest as I adjusted my stride.
“Is this your first job?” he asked.
“It is.”
“Huh. You hold those weapons like it isn’t.” He eyed my belt, heavy with my daggers as well as my sword. My pockets and hidden compartments in my pack were filled with my usual equipment.
I shrugged again.
“Get in lots of fights back home?”
I shot him an annoyed glare. “Are you here to make friends or do your job? I’d rather not die in a refugee ambush, so kindly shut up.”
One man flicked his little finger at me, and the others grumbled among themselves for a moment before one said, “There was a caravan ambushed by refugees not two weeks ago. It was a caravan heading east, and they killed several merchants and guards. Refugees died, too, at least.”
Revulsion washed through me. Those hadn’t been refugees. Those had been Ospreys, posing as guards.
Just like me.
They must have been so frightened when the other guards brought down their swords.
I pushed away thoughts of Quinn and Ezra. Right now, I needed to work.
Eventually, the men lost interest in me, letting me lag behind. I kept close watch on the trees, listening for any sounds out of the ordinary. Ospreys practiced stealth in the woods as much as in the city, keeping to the shadows, keeping our voices low, and keeping alert because anything could happen to a handful of children—now teenagers—alone in the woods.
In contrast, the caravan was noisy with the hum of wheels on steel, hooves striking dirt, and the voices of men unworried about attack. The forest animals had gone quiet with our passing and would be no use as indicators of anything else.
Our shadows shortened before us and we paused to eat rations and let the horses drink from a stream that ran down from the mountains.
“There are caverns that way.” One of the men sat next to me and pointed northward. “Black as pitch in there, but if you bring a good light and mirrors, you might have a chance of seeing some amazing structures. You’d think a sculptor went in there first. Air’s so clean, too, it almost hurts to breathe when you come back out.”
“Don’t tell him about that one, Josh,” said another man. “There’s better ones north of Skyvale. Some of the stalagmites are hollow tubes, and you can blow over them like flutes. Those are better.”
Josh threw up his little finger at his friend. “Just trying to show young Will what’s around here. Your singing rocks aren’t anywhere near here, are they?”
“Er.”
I glanced between them, chewing on a last bit of my jerky. I wasn’t much interested in stories about caves.
The caravan stretched into the west, all wood and metal wagons painted with merchants’ colors and examples of their wares. The horses milled around in tiny herds, each group near their designated wagons as they munched on the browning autumn grass. Some of the guards had horses as well; their bridles and clips clang-clanged as they ambled around.
The air was still and crisp and, for once, free of the acrid stench of wraith. Only the odor of people and horses and autumn filled the road, and with the sun slipping past noon, there were few shadows.
One of the shadows moved.
Just a fraction, but movement nonetheless.
I peered harder, tuning out the guards’ voices. The shadow in the trees resolved itself into a black-clad young man. When he lifted a hand in greeting, I rolled my eyes and sat back.
Once the caravan rumbled into motion again, there wasn’t much of a chance to sneak away. A few of the older guards hung back in the forest, making sure no people—or wraith beasts—were following, but as a new and young guard, I wasn’t permitted.
At nightfall, I took first watch, and adjusted my weapons before I climbed a tree.
Moonlight filtered through the canopy of copper leaves, and rained silver-blue on the railroad where the wagons had been removed from the tracks and now waited in formation for morning. The caravan leader and merchants slept in the middle, while off-duty guards dozed on wagon rooftops, their weapons close beside them.
The road was dim. Empty. Only a breeze disturbed the stillness.
“Do you even know how to use that sword?” Black Knife appeared out of the shadows, crouched on a branch above me, one tree over. He was so quiet.
“I know which end to stick where.” I smiled as I scanned the road again. Nothing. Only the faint scent of wraith blew in from the west. “What are you doing here?”
“I just wanted to take a walk. That’s not a crime, is it?”
“You’re the one who decides whether people are criminals.”
“I don’t decide. Other people are the ones going around taking things that aren’t theirs.” When he stood, the tree groaned and a leaf fluttered down, but that was all. He braced himself on a high branch, then maneuvered and stretched until he sat beside me, just a breath of air between us. “So, Will.”
I stiffened. “What did you call me?”
“Will. I heard one of the guards call you Will earlier, but I can go back to calling you ‘nameless girl’ if you prefer.”
My whole body sagged in relief. “Call me whatever you want.”
“Will, then. What are you doing here? Don’t you have important things to take care of elsewhere?”
“I have important things to do here.”
“In a tree? With a merchant caravan?”
I shrugged.