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Authors: Gary Alan Wassner
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waist.
Fallean said nothing. His expression didn’t change as he turned his head toward Teren and stared at him once again.
“What are you stupid?” Teren shouted, while elbowing Fallean hard in the shoulder. “I fucking told you to keep those evil eyes off of me! You people should stick to your own kind. Now keep your damn head down,” he ordered and slapped him on the back.
Fallean looked at the ground. Ire flowed over him like hot water in a tub and he tried hard to calm himself. He thought of the cool waves lapping at his feet on a warm spring day on the island of Merala da, and forced his anger out to sea with the image of the ebbing tide. When Teren turned away once more, he signaled to his friends to remain patient, knowing they too must have reached their limits. A blue fire leapt from finger to finger and he closed his fist around it.
“Pay them no mind,” Madar said. “All’s we got to do is get them to Peltaran and the witch woman will take care of ‘em. All’s we got to do…” he repeated to himself.
“And we’ll get our gold,” Teren flashed a greedy smile. “That almost makes being near this scum worth it,” he said, pulling his foot out from under a thick clump of moss.
The path kept ascending but they marched up it expecting at any moment for it to turn downward. Though the trees had few leaves upon their branches, they grew closer together and more dense, forming a formidable wall on either side of the group. Teren couldn’t turn around without pricking his flesh on some thorny bush or catching himself on a sharp, barren offshoot that protruded from the flanks.
He glanced upward, to ensure that the prisoner he confronted was still obeying orders. Eyeing the chains and shackles that looped around their legs and bound the three of them together, he snickered with satisfaction, emboldened by the sense of security they afforded him. His courage always waxed when he was in control.
As Madar tried to maneuver past a tight bend in the path without scratching his face and arms anymore than was necessary, the others came to a halt behind him. It was hard to avoid the thorns and the legs of his pants got tangled in the underbrush. Teren walked over to him, easing himself past the prisoners, and bent down. While trying to free his friend’s leg from the prickles that constrained it, he got his own sleeve caught up in it as well.
“Damn this place!” Madar exclaimed. “If I didn’t know no better, I’d think these bushes didn’t want us walkin’ through here.”
“Maybe we should backtrack and take a different fork,” Teren said, frustrated with the entire effort.
“It’s getting late. Besides, we’re still going up. We gotta get over the top if we wanna get to the other side.” Madar yanked his leg free of the thorns leaving a large piece of his trousers behind. “Damn!” The sun was setting.
Teren’s arms were scratched and bleeding, and Madar’s cheek was marked by a long red line that beaded up with blood as well. Curiously, none of the prisoners incurred the same difficulties.
“If this fucking path gets any narrower we won’t be able to walk up it. Then what?” Teren asked. “How much time we got left?”
“I don’t know, but it ain’t much,” Madar admitted. “Why would a path end in the middle of nowheres? It’s got to keep going. Maybe it’s just overgrown.”
“A fucking lot of good that will do us! Overgrown or not, we gotta walk on it. How long we been up here anyways? Feels like forever to me,” he complained, though his friend was already a good distance ahead of him.
As he spoke, a particularly ornery thorn on the end of a particularly ornery branch stuck in his shirt behind his right shoulder. He tried to tear it free but it was lodged deep in the fabric. Reaching over his head and attempting to grab the branch, he yelped with pain. Blood oozed from his thumb. Scrambling to break free, another branch caught upon his trouser leg. The more he
Fallean said nothing. His expression didn’t change as he turned his head toward Teren and stared at him once again.
“What are you stupid?” Teren shouted, while elbowing Fallean hard in the shoulder. “I fucking told you to keep those evil eyes off of me! You people should stick to your own kind. Now keep your damn head down,” he ordered and slapped him on the back.
Fallean looked at the ground. Ire flowed over him like hot water in a tub and he tried hard to calm himself. He thought of the cool waves lapping at his feet on a warm spring day on the island of Merala da, and forced his anger out to sea with the image of the ebbing tide. When Teren turned away once more, he signaled to his friends to remain patient, knowing they too must have reached their limits. A blue fire leapt from finger to finger and he closed his fist around it.
“Pay them no mind,” Madar said. “All’s we got to do is get them to Peltaran and the witch woman will take care of ‘em. All’s we got to do…” he repeated to himself.
“And we’ll get our gold,” Teren flashed a greedy smile. “That almost makes being near this scum worth it,” he said, pulling his foot out from under a thick clump of moss.
The path kept ascending but they marched up it expecting at any moment for it to turn downward. Though the trees had few leaves upon their branches, they grew closer together and more dense, forming a formidable wall on either side of the group. Teren couldn’t turn around without pricking his flesh on some thorny bush or catching himself on a sharp, barren offshoot that protruded from the flanks.
He glanced upward, to ensure that the prisoner he confronted was still obeying orders. Eyeing the chains and shackles that looped around their legs and bound the three of them together, he snickered with satisfaction, emboldened by the sense of security they afforded him. His courage always waxed when he was in control.
As Madar tried to maneuver past a tight bend in the path without scratching his face and arms anymore than was necessary, the others came to a halt behind him. It was hard to avoid the thorns and the legs of his pants got tangled in the underbrush. Teren walked over to him, easing himself past the prisoners, and bent down. While trying to free his friend’s leg from the prickles that constrained it, he got his own sleeve caught up in it as well.
“Damn this place!” Madar exclaimed. “If I didn’t know no better, I’d think these bushes didn’t want us walkin’ through here.”
“Maybe we should backtrack and take a different fork,” Teren said, frustrated with the entire effort.
“It’s getting late. Besides, we’re still going up. We gotta get over the top if we wanna get to the other side.” Madar yanked his leg free of the thorns leaving a large piece of his trousers behind. “Damn!” The sun was setting.
Teren’s arms were scratched and bleeding, and Madar’s cheek was marked by a long red line that beaded up with blood as well. Curiously, none of the prisoners incurred the same difficulties.
“If this fucking path gets any narrower we won’t be able to walk up it. Then what?” Teren asked. “How much time we got left?”
“I don’t know, but it ain’t much,” Madar admitted. “Why would a path end in the middle of nowheres? It’s got to keep going. Maybe it’s just overgrown.”
“A fucking lot of good that will do us! Overgrown or not, we gotta walk on it. How long we been up here anyways? Feels like forever to me,” he complained, though his friend was already a good distance ahead of him.
As he spoke, a particularly ornery thorn on the end of a particularly ornery branch stuck in his shirt behind his right shoulder. He tried to tear it free but it was lodged deep in the fabric. Reaching over his head and attempting to grab the branch, he yelped with pain. Blood oozed from his thumb. Scrambling to break free, another branch caught upon his trouser leg. The more he
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