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Authors: Chris A. Jackson
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chittered at him from a nearby tree, snapping his attention. Targus frowned down at the mystery written in the dirt; he did not like mysteries that he was unable to unravel.
“Something?” Jax asked, tracing a wide circle around the spot that Targus was studying.
“Less than something, but more than nothing. A riddle without an answer.” He outlined the spot where something had stood with his finger. “Something stood on this spot without leaving a scuff or print, and did not leave a track while coming or going. What possibilities are there to explain this, Apprentice?”
“Something that flew, or a wizard using a transposition spell.” He also looked up at the lack of overhanging branches.
“Or something that doesn’t leave tracks or doesn’t walk, but has weight enough to leave an impression when it stands in one place long enough.” Targus’ younger apprentice walked up to the scene and cocked one eyebrow, one slim finger running along her shapely jaw as she knelt to examine the spot.
“And what might do that, Mya?” Targus’ voice was flat, unreadable, but his face was alight with his youngest apprentice’s audacity.
She shrugged and stood. “I have no idea, Master Targus. You have told me that there are people trained in stealth who can walk without leaving a track. The Grandfather, for one, does not leave a mark when he walks across the courtyard; not even in the dirt of the stable yard.”
“True, but I doubt there are any grandmaster assassins roaming the countryside. We search for a wizard, and a boy your age who has been magically enhanced as a killing weapon.” Targus stepped right into the middle of the spot that he had been examining, and walked past his two apprentices. Both looked down reflexively, and each could see the clear scuff of their master’s boot. Their eyes met and an infinitesimal shrug of Jax’s shoulders was answered by an equally minute nod from his younger peer. They moved to the horses and mounted. By late that night they should be in the village of Thistledown.
Chapter VII
“S tableboy!” Targus snapped, stepping out of the saddle as his mount came to a halt in front of Thistledown’s one and only inn.
“Yessir!” The boy came running up and eagerly took the reins from Targus.
“Walk them out, groom them and give them a mash. They’ve been running hard, so take your time.” A silver crown arced through the darkness and the boy snatched it out of the air like a bat picking off a stray moth.
“Yessir! Right away, Sir!”
“Jax. Mya. With me.”
The two apprentices handed over their mounts and mumbled acquiescence, following him up the steps to the inn’s door. Their knees wobbled after so long in the saddle, and a night’s sleep loomed at the top of the stairs like a proverbial pot of gold. That treasure vanished as readily as any leprechaun’s secret stash as soon as they entered the inn’s common room, however, for they could all see that something unusual had happened here. There was information to be gleaned from this place before any of them got a single wink of sleep.
The bartender stood with his arm in a sling and bound in splints, his free hand lazily polishing a mug while he talked with a man wearing the garb and odor of a swineherd. Two barmaids scurried to and from the tables, all of which were seated to capacity; all of the occupants looked like locals. Mya also noticed that several planks in the main room’s back wall had been recently replaced. Either they’d been broken in some kind of disturbance, or their replacement was coincidence.
Targus did not believe in coincidence.
“Innkeeper!” He moved to the bar, his face open, his smile friendly. “I would purchase a meal and a room for myself and my friends, but I see that your inn is full to bursting. Have we happened into Thistledown in the midst of the spring
“Something?” Jax asked, tracing a wide circle around the spot that Targus was studying.
“Less than something, but more than nothing. A riddle without an answer.” He outlined the spot where something had stood with his finger. “Something stood on this spot without leaving a scuff or print, and did not leave a track while coming or going. What possibilities are there to explain this, Apprentice?”
“Something that flew, or a wizard using a transposition spell.” He also looked up at the lack of overhanging branches.
“Or something that doesn’t leave tracks or doesn’t walk, but has weight enough to leave an impression when it stands in one place long enough.” Targus’ younger apprentice walked up to the scene and cocked one eyebrow, one slim finger running along her shapely jaw as she knelt to examine the spot.
“And what might do that, Mya?” Targus’ voice was flat, unreadable, but his face was alight with his youngest apprentice’s audacity.
She shrugged and stood. “I have no idea, Master Targus. You have told me that there are people trained in stealth who can walk without leaving a track. The Grandfather, for one, does not leave a mark when he walks across the courtyard; not even in the dirt of the stable yard.”
“True, but I doubt there are any grandmaster assassins roaming the countryside. We search for a wizard, and a boy your age who has been magically enhanced as a killing weapon.” Targus stepped right into the middle of the spot that he had been examining, and walked past his two apprentices. Both looked down reflexively, and each could see the clear scuff of their master’s boot. Their eyes met and an infinitesimal shrug of Jax’s shoulders was answered by an equally minute nod from his younger peer. They moved to the horses and mounted. By late that night they should be in the village of Thistledown.
Chapter VII
“S tableboy!” Targus snapped, stepping out of the saddle as his mount came to a halt in front of Thistledown’s one and only inn.
“Yessir!” The boy came running up and eagerly took the reins from Targus.
“Walk them out, groom them and give them a mash. They’ve been running hard, so take your time.” A silver crown arced through the darkness and the boy snatched it out of the air like a bat picking off a stray moth.
“Yessir! Right away, Sir!”
“Jax. Mya. With me.”
The two apprentices handed over their mounts and mumbled acquiescence, following him up the steps to the inn’s door. Their knees wobbled after so long in the saddle, and a night’s sleep loomed at the top of the stairs like a proverbial pot of gold. That treasure vanished as readily as any leprechaun’s secret stash as soon as they entered the inn’s common room, however, for they could all see that something unusual had happened here. There was information to be gleaned from this place before any of them got a single wink of sleep.
The bartender stood with his arm in a sling and bound in splints, his free hand lazily polishing a mug while he talked with a man wearing the garb and odor of a swineherd. Two barmaids scurried to and from the tables, all of which were seated to capacity; all of the occupants looked like locals. Mya also noticed that several planks in the main room’s back wall had been recently replaced. Either they’d been broken in some kind of disturbance, or their replacement was coincidence.
Targus did not believe in coincidence.
“Innkeeper!” He moved to the bar, his face open, his smile friendly. “I would purchase a meal and a room for myself and my friends, but I see that your inn is full to bursting. Have we happened into Thistledown in the midst of the spring
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