Chapter 10
Sparks corkscrewed skyward from their small cookfire, nestled back from the road in a green notch between the hills. Stunted trees with knotty, brambly trunks clung at improbable angles to the hillsides above, creating a wild sort of bower as evening shadows descended.
Chak retrieved his pack from where he’d stowed it amidst overgrown wildflowers. A sturdy gray pony was staked nearby.
After the tapenti kindled a fire, Astryx hauled three camp chairs from the back of her wagon and she, Fern, and Zyll now occupied them. The goblin’s hands remained bound before her.
For the moment.
The hazferou clucked from atop Bucket’s back, where he grazed next to the pony. The horse, surprisingly, did not object to his passenger.
Sitting cross-legged, the tapenti tended an iron pot that he rotated at the edge of the coals, prodding the contents with a long, two-pronged fork. Small, quartered red potatoes spat and sizzled inside, along with leeks, onions, a few eggs, and a handful of rosemary.
Fern’s stomach rumbled loudly, and her whiskers quivered.
She almost wept at the savory fragrance.
She tucked away her latest attempt at a letter to Viv, which spent most of its words recounting the day’s events.
She might’ve gotten a little carried away describing the duel.
The apology was getting a trifle muddled.
Chak smiled at her awkwardly. “Astryx, of course, I know. And the infamous Zyll, certainly. But you? I apologize that I have not asked your name.”
“It’s Fern.” She buckled her satchel. “I’m, uh. I’m not anyone in particular.”
The tapenti snorted. “In such famous company? I highly doubt it.”
“She’s a bookseller,” said Astryx mildly. She glanced to the side, as though hearing a far-off voice, then unsheathed Nigel’s white steel a few inches where he sat tipped against her thigh.
The tapenti cocked back his now-battered hat. “Ah, I see, I see. Mystic tomes? Legendary codexes?”
Fern coughed. “Uh. No. Just the, um, normal sort of tomes and codexes.”
He frowned.
“I’m not supposed to be here.” Fern spread her hands. “I, er, accidentally stowed away, and then it was too far to walk back to Thune, so I’m just along for the ride until Bycross, when I guess . . . I’ll . . . go back . . . ?” She hadn’t thought her last sentence would become a question.
“An accidental stowaway?” Chak’s consternation deepened.
“She was grossly inebriated,” declared Nigel. “And suffered a crisis of purpose, which led her to climb into the wrong wagon, and my lady has graciously allowed her to travel with us. For now.”
Fern glared at the sword. It was hard to tell where to direct her annoyed gaze, though.
“I wouldn’t say grossly inebriated. Anyway, I don’t know why we’re talking about me.
That was a very exciting duel, and she’s clearly .
. . whatever she is.” She waved at Zyll.
“I’m the least interesting thing next to this fire. ”
“Hm,” said Chak.
Oh, for fuck’s sake, not you, too, thought Fern.
The tapenti withdrew two battered tin bowls and forks from his pack and gestured with them apologetically. “Alas, I have only the pair. We will have to take turns.”
Astryx waved dismissively. “I’ll wait,” she said, taciturn as ever.
He laid the bowls on the ground and grabbed the pot with a bundled handkerchief, then tipped the pot and scraped a portion of the vegetables and eggs into both bowls. He offered them to Fern and Zyll.
The goblin accepted one with bound hands, opened her serrated mouth, poured the entire contents inside, chewed twice, swallowed, and handed the bowl back.
She smiled, and her teeth shone in the firelight.
Fern made an involuntary gagging sound and clutched at her throat with one paw. She could already feel the scalding heat of the food through the tin.
Chak opened his mouth, couldn’t find any appropriate words, then closed it again before dishing another bowlful for Astryx.
As the elf methodically stabbed and consumed her meal in silence, Fern blew on her own, and couldn’t contain her curiosity.
“You called her the infamous Zyll. How infamous, exactly?” She popped a chunk of potato crusted in herbs into her mouth. Her eyes fluttered closed with pleasure, and she moaned in a way she instantly regretted.
The tapenti arcanist didn’t appear to notice the suggestive noise. He sat cross-legged again, patiently awaiting the use of a bowl. “Thievery? Skulduggery? Arson? Espionage? The tales are many. You have heard none of them?”
“Skulduggery?” Fern glanced skeptically at Zyll, who was now crouched very close to the Elder Blade, her pointed tongue out and a finger inching closer to his sheath.
“She appears in a place, and chaos follows. Magistrates deposed. Riots fomented. Treasures absconded with. Why, only two months gone, she made off with some kind of experimental relic from the college in Thune. You did not hear of this?”
“Before my time, maybe?” hazarded Fern. “I’m a recent transplant to the city. So, you’re after the same bounty as Astryx? It has to be a lot of sovereigns to go to all the trouble, right? Like, a hundred?”
The tapenti and the elf exchanged a meaningful glance.
“More?” Fern almost choked on a second piece of potato.
“It is not only the money,” Chak hastily amended. “There is the good of the Territory to think of.”
“The Territory,” scoffed Nigel. “You’re like all the rest, only out to gild your own name.”
“Nigel,” warned Astryx.
“But it’s true, my lady!” cried the sword. “Er, why is she touching me?” he asked in a worried tone as Zyll prodded the exposed steel of his blade.
“You’re hardly bothered by the gilding of mine,” replied Astryx, and with a sharp look at the goblin, she snapped Nigel’s blade all the way back into the sheath. He protested with an affronted—but muffled—grunt.
Fern returned her attention to Chak. “I guess I’m just surprised you won’t try this again. Never mind the fact that you invited us to dinner. For that much money, why wouldn’t you wait until dark and . . . you know?” She made a stabbing motion with her fork.
“Well. It would not be honorable,” he said, adjusting his vest. “I was bested fairly. Of course, there are many who would not see it that way, but I am not one of them. I will seek other adventures.”
Astryx nodded as though that was only obvious. She handed back her empty bowl. “And on that note, we should be going.”
“It is getting quite dark though, yes?” asked Chak, with a look of confusion. “Surely you will not set out until morning?”
Standing, and wearing a crooked smile, the elf replied, “Your honor is doubtless unimpeachable, but I still don’t plan to sleep within a league of you. Too many elves abandon common sense after the first few centuries.”
And with that, she folded up her camp chair and waved for Fern to do the same.
The bookseller stared forlornly into her own now-empty bowl, mourning in advance the loss of the warm glow of the cookfire and something that approached actual conversation.
Astryx didn’t appear to notice and made short work of hustling Zyll into the wagon and stowing her things.
Fern folded her chair and made to bid Chak farewell, when she found Zyll once again by the fire.
The elf turned from un-staking Bucket and started in surprise.
Her surprise, however, was nothing in comparison to Chak’s. He stared, bewildered, into the snaggle-toothed beak of the hazferou, which Zyll thrust toward him in a baleful bundle of feathers and fangs.
When he didn’t immediately move to receive it, the goblin waved it at him insistently.
The hazferou was not amused.
“I am sorry, I . . . do not want it,” Chak said.
If Zyll comprehended, she gave no indication.
Later, as the elf, the rattkin, and the goblin departed in the wagon—lit only by blue moonlight and the receding glow of Chak’s cookfire—Fern could just make out the tapenti staring after them with a hazferou held awkwardly in both hands.