The brute snarled, breaking off its gaze, and thrust its way through the horde of tharuks crowded around the barrel. It shoved them aside and rammed its snout into some of Last Stop’s finest ale.
Giant John snapped the reins, and they moved on. His trick with picturing the beer had incited the monster’s thirst. Thank the Egg, that broken-tusked beast was behind him. Was the other half of its tusk impaled in someone?
They were only a few fields away when roars broke out. He snapped the reins and they picked up speed. Glancing back, he saw the tharuks fighting over the ale. What a waste of good beer, but they’d fallen for it. He only had a few barrels left and their journey would take days. What would happen when their supplies ran out?
He pushed the horses on, driving through the morning, keen to get to River Forks before nightfall and find a place to stay. The next day, they’d push on to Forest Edge and Waldhaven, where his friend Benji lived. It had been a while since he’d seen Benji, but he’d put them up for the night in his barn.
Mid-afternoon, Giant John stopped and stretched his legs. He was about to flip down the side of the wagon bed to let Marlies out, when a flurry of birds took off from the trees beyond the meadow. Something had disturbed them. A tharuk or a deer? Better to be safe than sorry. He drummed his fingers on the wagon side, then rummaged through a sack. Grabbing a couple of apples, he hopped back onto the seat and pressed on. They had to get to River Forks.
Bitter Truth
The sharp clack of dress boots echoed along the prison corridor. Visitors seldom came, except Ernst and Tomaaz. The pair had kept him posted, asked for guidance on training, and brought him decent food. Hans stopped his strength exercises and peered through the bars.
Klaus was striding down the corridor, stopping to mutter a few words with each criminal. Hans caught phrases such as, “few more weeks,” and “got your just desserts,” and “time will tell.”
How many of these men and women had been unjustly imprisoned, like him? He’d never questioned it until now.
Bill hung his arms through the bars, rubbing his hands together as Klaus approached. “Master Klaus, so nice to see you.”
Hands on hips, Klaus regarded him. “Despicable, Bill, whipping a daughter like that. You won’t find any sympathy here. You’ll be staying behind bars as long as I can keep you there.”
“But Master—”
“Don’t Master me!” Klaus’ voice was low, deadly.
Bill slunk to the back of his cell.
Surely, Klaus didn’t still think his opinion mattered to Bill?
Hans kept his gaze steady as Klaus faced him. “Good morning, Klaus.”
“Yes, it is a good morning, a nice peaceful morning, like all the others this past week.” Klaus shook his head. “No tharuks today, Hans. Or any other day for that matter. What do you have to say for yourself?”
Eight days in this dreadful place already, and still no attack. Hans had been pondering it all day, but he doubted Klaus really wanted to know. “Perhaps tharuk scouts slipped through, but were detained in Western Settlement.”
“Perhaps there wasn’t a fire, Hans. Perhaps you imagined it.” Klaus’ lip curled. “Perhaps it’s been more peaceful because your children are no longer fighting in my marketplace.”
Bill was leaning forward, listening. Every afternoon, crows visited his window sill for food, and let him pet them, while he whispered at them. As if he was reporting the jail’s comings and goings.
Ridiculous. Hans collected himself. The boredom in prison was addling his brain. “Maybe.” Klaus was never going to listen. Never going to prepare. But, then again, perhaps he was right. Maybe tharuks weren’t coming. No, Hans couldn’t risk it. They had to do whatever they could. “I’d rather prepare in vain than be caught unawares. These are our children and families, our neighbors, Klaus. Wouldn’t you rather be cautious than sorry?”
“Well, I’m sorry I listened to you, Hans.”
Listened? Hans crushed the desperate bark of laughter that threatened to break loose from his chest. Through the bars, he grasped Klaus’ shirt. “Listening is training our warriors to fight tharuks. Listening is not caring what your father told you about dragons. He was wrong, Klaus. Your grandfather was a dragon rider—a fine rider, from what I’ve heard—and died saving a village. Your father turned against dragons afterward, injuring any dragons that patrolled Lush Valley. That’s why they don’t come here. That’s why they set up a beacon system. Your grandfather Frugar would not want his sacrifice to be in vain. He’d not want you to risk the lives of your loved ones because of your father’s bitterness.”
For a moment, Klaus stared at him, shock etched on his face. “Unhand me, you poor deluded fool.” He shoved Hans’ hands away and stalked off.
Bill cackled with glee. “Good try, mate. Who’d believe that crock of dung? You’ve sealed your fate now!”
Hans stood, head against the bars, chest heaving.
Hunted
It had been good to get out of this forsaken wagon and stretch her legs last night, but now, after another day on the road, Marlies was weary. Strange how lying around fretting could tire you out. It’d been ten days since she’d left Lush Valley. Had more tharuks breached the pass? Were Hans and Tomaaz still alive? She rubbed her calling stone, but there was no hum or buzz. Hans wasn’t using his, then.
Giant John, concerned freshweed wasn’t enough, had stopped at a local sty, trading vegetables for a piglet and chickens. Now there was an ominous dripping near her feet. The stink of pig urine and manure made her gag. The animals’ clucking and squealing hammered at her head. Thank
