I saw a chance to regain control of the conversation. “I guess you want us to kill these people.”
Peck chuckled, his eyes almost disappearing behind his high cheeks. “If you can chase them away, that would be all right with me, but I wouldn’t count on that level of cooperation.”
“How many are there?” I asked.
Peck gazed upward. “Oh, it varies. I have seen as few as three and as many as six.”
“You spied on them? Lately?” Pil snapped. “Is there any particular reason why you need us to go get cut up and murdered when you can just sneak in and hex the crap out of them?”
Grinning, Peck said, “I beg your pardon, but you may not understand the intricacies of hexing.”
Pil raised her eyebrows. “I understand that cowards will risk other people’s lives.”
Peck’s grin disappeared. “The secret way north starts a quarter mile down the trail beside the dead tree that looks like two geese. Good luck.” He walked back toward his cottage.
“Pil!” Bea set her jaw. “Say you’re sorry.”
Pil blinked. “I’m sorry, Bea, but I can’t say I’m sorry to that old rat-pile, because I’m not a bit sorry!”
Halla said, “Young woman, say you’re sorry. You do not have to be sorry.”
Whistler glared at Halla. “Nobody has to say a single thing they don’t want to say, so go sit in a puddle.”
Halla turned to me. “Control your manservant.”
“Whistler doesn’t work for me.” I nodded at the big thug. “He’s his own man. He’s just here to save your life and die gloriously.”
Peck started laughing behind us, a deep, joyful laugh that’s born in the gut. “Never mind, miss, I don’t need an apology. You people are more entertaining than dancing bears. I’ll lead you along the short path. Just promise you’ll help me dissuade those bandits.”
FIFTEEN
I have traveled more than I’ve stayed put in my life. I’ve wandered, homeless, for stretches of months and years. When the gods went looking for somebody to ride around randomly and open the way for their return, they could hardly have chosen better than me.
I’ve passed through just about every kind of countryside and weather. So, when I proclaimed that the center of the Graplinger Bog was the most repugnant and awful place in the world, my opinion was not an idle belief. It was based on hard experience.
The air smelled like filth, and not the honest filth of a barnyard manure pile. This smell seeped all the way into the gut. It rose from excrement squeezed out by dank, slick beasts, churned together with a million nameless deaths that oozed up to the surface of the muck. All of it fermented in nature’s chamber pot and squirted over everything that could be seen, touched, or inhaled.
Ahead of me, Peck chuckled. “Stay close, or the swamp monster will get you!” That was the five hundredth time he had said it in the past thirty hours, or so I estimated. The rosy bastard chuckled again. I slopped along the path, which was more water than dirt, and imagined shoving my knife into his jovial heart from behind.
We slogged onward, silent except for the squishing of our boots on the path. I flexed my left hand. The numbness had overtaken my whole hand and then spread up to my wrist. I couldn’t cure it or even understand it. I admitted to myself that I would need Harik’s help with it, or at least his mocking advice.
Sunrise pushed sickly, greenish light into the swamp and filtered through the nasty trees and foliage. An hour later, Peck stopped. “They’ll be not far ahead,” he whispered, “so keep yourselves quiet while I scout them.” Peck turned, sliding his feet to quiet the sloshing mud. He had commanded his woolly dog to stay behind, I supposed to guard their home.
I touched Peck’s arm. “I’ll accompany you on this jaunt, Peck. I need to see these horrible bandits for myself. Besides, you might be leading us into a trap. I’ll be walking close behind you, and if I think we’ve been betrayed, my knife will be in your heart before you hear me move.”
“Foolishness!” Peck didn’t so much frown as he pouted. “When you walk, you sound like a crippled toad dragging and bouncing its butt along.”
“There is no other way,” Halla grated. “You cannot go without him.”
“I’ll go home, then. Take your chances without me.”
“Don’t break our bargain.” I shook my head, slow and sorrowful. “That’s an awful thing. Some of the gods would hate to hear about it, if somebody were to tell them.”
“I don’t need gods for my work.” Peck stood tall, but he bit the inside of his cheek.
“I’ve heard Harik say he loves to watch a good, creative hexer. The disappointing hexers . . . well, I never hear anybody talk about them again.” I stared at the mud and shook my head.
Those were raw-boned lies, but Peck had never spoken with a god, so he didn’t know the difference. He called me a damned bastard with rotting balls and then led me down the path, both of us sliding our feet as we walked. I followed him at a gliding pace for twenty minutes, and then Peck made us creep along until we neared the bandits’ camp. Kneeling behind some tall grass, I examined them.
The camp was almost an island—a big, damp area separated from the path by a wide stretch of swamp water. I wouldn’t have cared to
