brought his scimitar up to Druz's throat. She steeled herself, stopping her immediate response to draw one of the knives hidden behind her back. She thought she might even have had a chance at blocking the scimitar, but she knew she couldn't allow the confrontation to come to that. If it had, one of them would have been killed. The blade lay coolly against her neck but didn't bite into her flesh. 'You could kill me,' Druz pointed out, knowing she was treading thin ice, 'but if you did, perhaps you would rob my species of good traits for the next generation.' Even as she said that, she realized she might have thrown the druid's own beliefs back in his face too hard. The druid cocked his head. 'Perhaps… and perhaps there are traits in you that would be better weeded out to increase the longevity of your species.' 'I'm coming with you,' Druz repeated, though less forcefully than she had the first time. 'For the gold?' the druid asked. 'Because I want the wolf dead. I saw what it did to that child, and I know how I would feel if I was the boy's…' Druz swallowed hard. 'You don't have a choice other than to let me go. The shepherd who hired us has deep pockets. His stock has done well, and the recent war in the Sea of Fallen Stars has insured that he gets the best prices for his livestock.' The druid waited, his eyes flicking to the other hunters. 'I can tell the shepherd that the wolf has been dealt with,' Druz said. She swallowed hard and felt the scimitar's edge bite more deeply. 'Otherwise, the shepherd may well fill these forests with hunters.' 'It would be bad for the hunters,' the druid promised. Druz glared at him. 'Could you kill them all?' 'Perhaps. Patience is its own reward, and I am very patient.' 'You couldn't get them all,' Druz pointed out. 'Not before they did considerable damage to this area's wildlife. Besides hunting and killing wolves, they'd also be living off the land. If we didn't come back, the shepherd will put even more men into the hunt. Those men would wreak havoc in these forests. Is that what you want?' The druid's eyes locked with hers for a time, and for just a moment, Druz thought her life was forfeit. The scimitar flashed away from her neck, returning to the druid's side. 'Then come,' the elf said. 'Keep up, because I'm not going to wait on you.' 'I need my gear,' Druz protested. Without another word, the druid turned and vanished into the forest. Druz cursed, calling on Tyr to guide her and Mystra to watch over her as she foolishly followed her own sense of duty. She sprinted back to the group, snatched up her sword belt, then fisted her personal pack from the ground. 'You're a fool for going with him,' Kord said as he helped his brother to his feet. 'That man will cut your throat and feed you to the wolves we're hunting.' 'He didn't kill your brother,' Druz pointed out. 'He knew he would have the rest of us against him if he did.' Kord's youthful pride wouldn't let him entirely accept the defeat he'd just been handed. 'From what I've heard about the Emerald Enclave,' Druz said, settling the pack across her shoulders, 'the druid would probably have made good on his threat to kill us all, even without the bear.' The bear, too, had disappeared back into the forest. 'Don't overlook the druid's generosity.' Druz started for the clearing's edge. 'Then why are you going with him?' Kord asked. 'Because I have to.' 'That's not it,' Tethys put in. 'Druz has heard the jingle of the shepherd's money bags. If she goes with the druid and brings back proof of the kill, she'll claim the bounty for herself.' 'No,' Druz said. 'That's not what this is about for me.' Tethys laughed mirthlessly. 'We'll see, girl, but if you try to cut us out of what's lawfully ours, I'll slit your throat myself.' Druz shrugged off the threat. She'd been around men like Tethys nearly all her life. In the next instant, she plunged into the forest, following the small, wiggling bushes that marked the druid's passage. She lengthened her stride, hoping to catch up.
CHAPTER THREE
'Do you think he has something worth taking, Cerril?'
Angry and paranoid, Cerril turned to the speaker, a small boy of about twelve-a year younger than Cerril. Before the other boy could move, Cerril cuffed his head.
'Ow!' the other boy complained, wrapping his fingers and palms around his head in case Cerril decided to try his luck again. He ducked and took a step back. All of them knew to expect violence when Cerril got upset.
'Whyn't you just announce to the world what we're after here?'
'I'm sorry,' the younger boy said ruefully.
'If one of these sailors overhears a question like that,' Cerril promised in a harsh whisper, 'you're going to have to learn to breathe through your ears because he'll cut your throat for you.'
'Not if we cut his throat first.' The young boy took a handmade knife from his ragged breeches and dragged the ball of his thumb along the uneven blade's edge. Blood dotted his flesh and he licked at it with his pink tongue.
'Oh, yeah, Hekkel,' one of the other boys sneered in a harsh whisper, 'and how many throats have you cut this tenday? Or any other tenday? You still ain't killed that man your mama's taken up with this last month.'
'Shut up!' Hekkel ordered, taking a small, defiant step forward.
Cerril cuffed the small boy on the head again, eliciting a cry of pain this time.
'Gods' blood, Cerril!' Hekkel cried out. 'Stop hitting me.'
A passing sailor from one of the ships docked in Alagh?n's harbor glanced over at them. He carried his duffel over his shoulder, a jug of wine in one hand, and had his other arm wrapped around the ample waist of a serving wench Cerril recognized from Elkor's Brazen Trumpet.
'Hey,' the sailor grunted, coming to a halt and staring into the shadows of the alley where the seven boys took shelter from scrutiny. 'What the Nine Hells are ye children doing out here at this time of night?'
'We're not damned children!' Cerril snapped.
He turned to confront the sailor. Anger burned along the back of his neck. His own mother, like Hekkel's, oft times lived with sailing men on leave from one ship or another that put up prolonged anchorage in Alagh?n's port. He'd never known his father.
The sailor laughed, already three sheets to the wind. The serving wench wasn't in much better shape.
'Ye're children,' the sailor argued. 'Maybe ye're mean, nasty, Cyric-blasted children, but ye're still children.'
Cerril's knife leaped to his hand and he started forward. He was big for his age, almost as tall as the sailor and easily as heavy with the broad shoulders and thick chest he'd gotten from the man who'd sired him. He'd also gotten the terrible temper that filled him now. At least, that was what his mother told him when she yelled at him.
'Ye going to come at me with that little tooth, boy?' the sailor taunted. He released the woman and stepped away from her, then drew the cutlass at his side. Moonlight silvered the blade. 'If'n ye do, it'll be the last thing ye do this night, I'll warrant ye that.'
Cerril stared at the thick blade and felt cold fear twist through his bowels. In stories he told the others in his pack, he'd confronted grown men with weapons before and bested them. Of course, in reality he'd only dealt with men too drunk to defend themselves.
'Oh, leave off these children, Wilf,' the serving wench said. 'They're just out for a bit of fun. Boys playing at being fierce men, that's all.'
The sailor treated Cerril and his mates to another black scowl. He cursed and spat, and the spittle splashed against the cobblestones near enough to Cerril's feet to make him take an involuntary step back.
Cerril bumped into Two-Fingers, who was called that because he'd lost two fingers in a fishing accident. Two-Fingers's sour stench filled Cerril's nose for a moment. Two-Fingers was the only one of them who lived on the streets and truly had no place to go.
'Well, I've got some words for boys playin' at bein' men,' the sailor warned. 'I've dealt with a few cutpurses an' other assorted rabble in other ports, an' I'm not a man to trouble over trouble for long. An' from the looks of this pack of wild apes, trouble is all they're after.'
'Come on,' the serving wench urged, pulling at the sailor's arm and setting him to weaving slightly. 'Do you really want to spend tonight explaining to the Watch how you came to kill a few of these boys over some unkind words? Or do you want to come up to my room and amuse me for a few hours?'
The sailor grinned. 'Since I got me druthers, we'll seek out the amusement, fair flower.' He took a faltering step and rejoined the woman, slipping his arm with the wine jug around her. Then he turned a baleful eye on Cerril and the other boys. 'But mark me words, ye scurvy lot. If'n ye cause me any more grief this night, why I'll slice ye and dice ye from wind to water, an' I'll use what's left of ye for chum to catch me breakfast.'
Cerril swallowed hard, but he made himself put on a brave front. If he ever showed how scared he sometimes got, he knew the other boys would desert him or find a new leader. While he held that position, he'd not always treated them fairly or well.
