The Dawn Country(89)

Blood started to pound in his ears. He blinked and looked around. Black Cape had vanished. Cord hadn’t even seen him move. He’d thought the man was still standing, looking down at the meadow, but …

A child sobbed.

As though the girl was buried beneath a pile of leaves ten hands deep, the sound was muffled.

Cord set his jaw and continued on down the trail that curved through the dogwoods. Just as he veered around a clump of brush … Black Cape stepped from behind a tree less than five paces away.

Cord froze.

The man’s ability for stillness was unnatural. Eerie. Black hair hung like silken strands around his oval, bent-nosed face. Fine as cobwebs, it shone brilliantly in the moonlight. His eyes were black as eternal night, with a wolfl ike luminosity. Cord couldn’t take his gaze from that strangely pale face. The man’s pallor contrasted so sharply with his black cape that he more resembled a corpse than a living man. And stranger still, he carried no weapons—at least none that Cord could see.

Barely above a whisper, Cord said, “Who are you?”

“One of the condemned. But no threat to you, my friend.”

Cord hadn’t seen his mouth move, but perhaps he’d just missed it. “You have a Hills People accent, but you’re not one of them or you wouldn’t be out here alone tracking them. What—?”

“If you’re going to help your friends, you’ll have to hurry. They’re surrounded.”

“Surrounded …” A chill sensation of terror went through Cord.

“And outnumbered almost three to one. Go. Now.”

Before his souls had even thought it through, he was backing away, then running across the snow, headed back for the river camp.





Forty

Odion





When we finally reach the clearing, tears are streaming down Wrass’ face. I have his arm stretched across my shoulders, supporting him as we fight our way through the snow. I’m practically carrying him now. He won’t say it, but I know the pain in his injured ankle is very bad. He can’t put any weight on it, and I keep losing my sweaty grip on his hand and stumbling to stay on my feet, which causes him even more pain.

“Keep moving,” Dakion orders. “It’s not much farther.”

“We’d be moving faster if you’d help me carry him.”

Dakion sneers. “Complain one more time, boy, and I’ll lighten your load for good.” He swings his war club in case I missed his meaning and adds, “Your friend is a troublemaker. We should have killed him long ago. Don’t give me an excuse.”

Wrass whispers, “I’m s-sorry, Odion. I wish I—”

“Save your strength, Wrass. There’s a fight coming.”

He gives me a sidelong look, as though he can tell I’m secretly trying to warn him that we’re going to make a break for it. Wrass’ expression goes sober. He knows he can’t run and must be trying to figure out what I have planned.

I’m not sure myself, except that I will not become the old woman’s slave again. I’ll die first.

“There,” Dakion says, and points to a small clearing just over the low hill. “That’s where you’re going.”

I take a new grip on Wrass’ damp hand and haul him another five paces before I have to stop and catch my breath. Ahead, I see one guard standing over two children. A strange longing rises in me. I want to see Zateri. To know she’s all right. But as we get closer, the girls’ faces shine in the moonlight. She is not here. Panic surges through me. I whisper to Wrass, “Where’s Zateri?”

He winces and croaks, “They took her. Gannajero said they were going to need her.”

“For what?”

“The old woman … said Zateri had to be there.”

“Where? For what?”

Wrass shakes his head. He’s breathing hard, biting his lip with every step. At least he’s no longer shivering. As I haul him over the hill and into the clearing, two girls leap to their feet and call, “Wrass! Wrass? Are you all right?”

The guards chuckle to each other. They find our concern for each other amusing.

When I reach the girls, I lower Wrass to the ground. He smothers the whimpers that try to escape his throat and looks at the girls. “Auma, are you all right?”

The older girl nods. “Yes, but they took Zateri.”

Wrass uses both hands to adjust his ankle, stretching it straight out in front of him and heaving a deep sigh of relief. While he tries to get comfortable, the girls stare openly at me.

“Who are you?” Auma asks suspiciously. She is tall and slender, and has a broad nose and long eyelashes.

“I—”