Chapter 12

Kestrel stopped Marley with a hand on his cloak. Ahead of them, the merchant road looped back through the woods and within the trees a light flickered. He crouched in the high grass and Kestrel followed him.

Her voice a breath. “That must be them.” Her bow slipped from her shoulder with practiced ease and she held her arrow ready with her next breath.

Marley touched her notched arrow and shook his head. “Don’t be so ready to take a life, unless there’s no other way. It is a burden that demands payment from your soul.” He gazed out at the tiny winking flame deep within the night. “They have one of your arrows. I wouldn’t give them any more samples of that essence.” He motioned for her to follow. “Let’s move behind that stone outcropping to your left.”

Soon hidden behind the rocks, Kestrel asked, “Do you think they’ve made camp or will they attack tonight?”

“Can’t say this far away. I’d lay my money on camping. They’re all human.” He shrugged."Their night eyes are just shy of blind most of the time. Stay put, young hawkling, and let me take a quick look with you, nice and safe."

Kestrel frowned, looked toward their camp, then back to Marley. “Then why did you bring me all the way out here with you?” she asked, her voice tense and low.

Stonebender grimaced. “Not the time, my dear. You said you would follow directions.” His face softened, and he rubbed his hand across his scarred forehead. “I will trade you an answer for an answer when I return.”

Something in Marley’s tone made Kestrel back down and change her approach. “What about the owl creature? It’s still somewhere close, I can sense it.” When he didn’t succumb, she paused, considering his promise of answering questions. “I will hold you to your offer.”

Marley flicked his gaze up toward the night sky. “I see nothing, but I believe you are right. The creature is called a Yanzul, a rare and powerful animal. But,” he said with a wink, “this isn’t the time.”

Kestrel watched, her mouth hanging open as Marley traced a rune in the air with his finger. The glowing symbol hung in the air while the runesmith chanted a flowing thread of sound. She tried to follow the words, but the wind caught them up and swallowed them before her mind could suggest a meaning.

He didn’t look back, but moved swiftly across the meadow and into the woods. Kestrel waited until his figure disappeared in trees and shadows before starting after him. But she found the harder she pushed forward, the slower her steps.

She struggled against the unseen force, realizing the runic symbol he traced held her back, not help him forward. Although she knew she shouldn’t, something inside her refused to stop. She felt certain he would be glad she followed.

Kestrel closed her eyes, remembering how she felt the night before when Jayf took her on the Paths. Instead of fighting the air, she relaxed. With deep, slow breaths, she opened her eyes, focusing on everything and nothing at the same time.

She knew she was not on the paths, but she saw the energy that sparkled in everything. This must be the essence, her mother talked about, she thought. Before her, a barrier of some sort shimmered just beyond ordinary sight. It encircled her and attached to the rock outcrop.

Instinctively, she reached, pushing at what looked like weak spots with her hands. She imagined herself flowing through them. For the length of a handful of heartbeats, nothing happened. Then suddenly she felt a tingle. It seemed like the energy of the rune flowed through her, or she flowed through it, much like water through a sieve. She moved forward, step by step.

By now, Marley was out of sight, but his trail sparkled in the night dark grass like a path of kaffaflies beneath the full moon. Freed of the runic hold, she flitted through the woods after him until the nicker of horses caught her attention. Her heart in her throat, she ducked behind a bramble of taylorberries.

The leafy branches made for an excellent cover, and she scooted in as close as she dared. Mindful of the three-inch thorns the leaves hid, she used her cloak to push aside the supple spring growth. On the far side of the brier, a grove of quaking sparlark trees shivered in the night wind as four horsemen trotted out of their midst.

Kestrel soon lost sight of the riders, but once more the nicker of a horse sounded. She put her cloak back on, carefully removing a thorn caught in the hood. On impulse, she pocketed the quill and angled off towards the sounds. Soon, the glow of a small fire caught her eye. She had found their camp!

Crouching low, she crept closer. They certainly did not pick the spot for comfort or security. The ground looked rocky and uneven, and the only water she saw meandered in a shallow course back toward the creek. There were three horses, and she wondered who they belonged to.

The fire, banked low, held barely enough light for her to count ground blankets. Although three bedrolls lay about the fire, there were packs piled against a tree. She grimaced and tried to scan the other side of the camp, wondering where Marley went. But the firelight ruined her night eyes and whatever trail she followed before no longer beckoned.

Quietly she backed away, realizing there were no mages in the camp, either. She closed her eyes for a moment to readjust to the dark. As she opened them, a shimmer of displaced air and movement, more felt than seen, made her blink a second time. She realized in a single whispered word she had walked into their trap.

“Hold.”

The earth reached gravelly hands up and encircled her ankles. Kestrel struggled to break free and, closing her eyes, tried to find that place of focus again, but all she found was fear. Clenching her jaw, she fought to keep from crying out as leafy vines slithered out of the grass and up her legs. From behind her, she heard someone approach and hoped Marley had found her.

Thick shoots of green twisted across her thighs and around her waist. Her hand slipped into her cloak pocket, searching for the thorn she put there earlier. Grasping the long, slender thorn like a knife, she slashed at the vines. But each stab seemed to increase their growth and tendrils soon drew her arms to her sides in a green embrace.

Her mind screamed for help even as she quieted her struggles, hoping her compliance would keep her face free of a leaf mask. The noise behind her, now, suggested an intense struggle. She tried to turn, but hands of stone still grasped her feet and as she wiggled, leafy branches tightened, shooting out more and more sprouts.

Something hit the ground with a thud, followed by a satisfied grunt. She was sure the grunt belonged to Marley. His voice rose in a chant, and she knew it was him. The air thrummed with the energy he drew and Kestrel sensed the power rising to the bid of his runic chant. But instead of the spell she expected to save them, there was a loud thump and what sounded like a body falling to the ground. And then silence.

The essence, drawn by the chant, dissipated into that silence. And fear threatened to boil up and choke her as someone laughed and said, “So, this is the great Marley Stonebender. I expected... more.” With a snort, he asked, “Are you sure we have to bring him in alive?”

“You and Rollan drag him into camp. I can guarantee, by the time Zamphere finishes with him, he will wish you’d killed him.”

“I thought we were taking him to Norfall.”

“Ha, that’s why I think and you take orders. Now get him over by the fire where we can watch him.”

Kestrel closed her eyes, latching on to the only shred of hope available. At least Marley still lived. Frantic to do something… anything, she searched for the touch of the owl creature, the Yanzul. It… she still lingered on the edge of thought, but she seemed confused and searching.

Certain the creature sensed her as she did it, she reached out in desperation to the Yanzul, her thoughts a plea for help.

The two academy men made a spectacle of dragging Marley past her and into their camp. The one in charge followed on their heels. He turned a leering grin her way. A shiver slid down her spine as she realized it was Mason.

“Rollan, take care of binding him. And you, Chet, backtrack along their tail. I’m betting we find that filthy dragon spawn at the end. Here,” Mason said, tossing a circle of silver to him. “Put that collar on him and he won’t be doin any more of those disappearing acts. And here’s the key.”

Chet handily caught the collar and key, and Kestrel heard him ride out. Meanwhile, the mage named Rollan retrieved a rope from his gear. He pulled the rope through his fingers and as he did; he spoke.

“Hold the Vortryl, hand, and foot. Keep him tied where he is put. If the bugger deems to fight. Pull yourself up good and tight.”

The rope glowed and dropped to the ground. Through rock and grass, it slithered like a snake, twisting its way to where Marley lay. It wove around and between his ankles and up his back to coil around his hands. Soon he lay trussed up like an animal for the spit. After the rope did its job, the mage stuffed a rag into Marley’s mouth and wound another strip around to hold it in place.

He spat onto the palm of his hand and said, “Hold,” smearing his spit across the rag. Kestrel recognized his voice as the same one that cast the essence weave on her and wondered why the weave he used to bind Marley differed so greatly from the one he used on her. Still, she didn’t need to be told the spell stopped the runesmith’s words.

Her gaze turned back to Mason as, even in the dark, the hound made his leer felt. A shiver of fear and disgust shook her. She hadn’t truly thought they might harm her, but Mason’s malevolence was a palpable presence. It made her stomach queasy each time his eyes slid across her.

“Bring that little clan witch over into the light, Rollan. Zamphere wants them alive, but…” They both laughed, deep and ugly. And Rollan made a show of sauntering toward her, but before he walked halfway, a piece of night fell out of the sky. When it rose again, the corpse of Rollan dangled from large black feline claws and they disappeared back into the dark.

The leafy arms holding Kestrel in place withered and fell away. And the earth again laid firm and flat with the death of Rollan. She took a deep breath and ducked, rolling into a low-hanging hedge as Mason ran, diving for her. He clasped her booted ankle and yanked her back.

His fingers harsh and insistent as hand over hand, he dragged her out of the thicket. She felt his hands about her waist, and he pulled her roughly against him.

His breath smelled of old ale and bitter herbs. He bent his head, running his tongue up her cheek, and whispered, “I will have every last bit of you and your essence, girly-girl.”

As his head moved up, Kestrel drew back her hand and, taking him by surprise, slammed her fist with the three-inch thorn into his eye. He howled, his hands going to his face. He rolled away, and she scrambled to her feet, scooping up her fallen bow.

Her body shook, and she took deep breaths, trying to slow her racing heart. She glanced around and, with a sigh of relief, realized Mason fled into the shadows. Kestrel’s stomach-churning, she stopped and retched before she made for the camp, a double handful of strides away.

Marley sat, rubbing his head, a dazed look on his face. But a horse’s squeal of pain brought both his and her gaze around to scan the woods. Before Kestrel could help Marley to his feet, Mason rode out of the tree line, trailing the other horse. He wove through the sparlarks and galloped down the merchant road in the same direction as their camp.

“Are you all right, runesmith?” Kestrel asked, as she lent herself to Marley’s efforts to stand. He wavered, and she reached out to steady him.

While she gave him time to regain his balance and wits, she let her mind search for any sign of the Yanzul. The creature’s presence seemed little more than a fuzzy blur, barely within Kestrel’s range. She scanned the area with not only her eyes but also senses until this day she didn’t know she possessed.

There were now four essence signatures she discerned. The first was Marley. His essence shimmered around him, a haze of hues and half-hues, with places that hinted at colors never imagined. It was the most beautiful and terrifying thing she had ever seen. And something about it wasn’t in harmony.

The Yanzul’s was the second. She was sure Mason and Chet were the other two signatures she sensed, and they headed toward the wagon where Jayf and her mother slept. She swallowed the dread that crawled up the back of her throat, threatening to choke her. Instead, she concentrated on helping Marley.

“Marley, we have to get back to the camp,” she said, her fear playing her voice like an over taut bowstring.

The only way Kestrel knew Marley heard or understood was a sharp intake of his breath and his hastened step. Soon he pulled away and his voice, a mix of gravel and mud, tore the shape of a rune from his own essence.

Their movements quickened, and they skimmed across the darkened landscape. But even as Marley’s rune of travel sped the two of them toward the camp, fear gripped her as the essence signatures of the two weavers leaped from a place so close she could almost reach out and touch them, to a place within the perimeter of her mother’s camp.