“I’ve seen slaver bands before,” Son added. “You can pass them at a brisk jog.”
The boy’s words collided with Dulnear with the force of an avalanche. He clenched his jaw and massaged his forehead. He was an expert tracker, yet he chose to charge after the slavers with no plan or thought. He got down from his horse and began to examine the road. He sighed and lamented, “There are no tracks.” His face grew hot and red as the realization of his mistake set in. “Those wagons would have been easy to pursue, but we blew past them like fools!”
“How?” Son asked. “There are no crossings along this road until we reach Redbramble.”
“They must have turned off a hidden path or trail somewhere. It is the only answer,” the northerner clarified.
“Then let’s race back and pick up their trail,” the boy urged.
“We passed Laor hours ago,” Dulnear chided. “They could have moved off the road anywhere between here and there. Besides, we have little daylight remaining.”
Son joined his friend in the road and stared westward. His eyebrows pushed together and he swallowed hard. Nervously balling his fists together he asked, “What are we going to do?”
There were many angry remarks that the man from the north wanted to respond with. Instead, he asked, “Did the shopkeeper say anything that would be helpful to us? Anything at all?”
“Only that the slavers headed east,” Son answered. “And that they were taking the townspeople in cages, like the ones we saw on our way to Blackcloth, I suppose,” he added.
“What else, boy?” Dulnear urged. “Think. Recall every detail of your conversation.”
The young toymaker shook his head slowly, squinted, and said, “He mentioned a name. I believe it was Sevuss.”
The fur-clad swordsman straightened. “Are you sure?” he asked. “Is that the only name he said?”
“Yes. He said he wanted to give someone named Sevuss a piece of his mind.”
“I suppose it is something,” the man from the north said. He then looked to Faymia, who was still atop her horse, and asked, “Have you ever heard that name?”
The woman looked to the distance in thought. “It sounds familiar, but I can’t place it,” she answered. Then, as if struck by the flash of a distant memory, she said, “Tcharron. I’ve heard Tcharron say that name before.”
“So, your former slaver may know how to find this Sevuss,” Dulnear observed. He had hoped he would never see the man again. His mood was growing more and more dark as the events of the day unfolded, and now that he knew he would be seeking out an enemy for assistance, he could barely contain his displeasure. He breathed deeply, then instructed, “We will ride until full-dark, camp for the night, and head toward Ahmcathare at first light.”
Maren was shaken from her daydream by Micah’s voice. “Looks like we’re making camp here,” he announced.
The wagons had formed a circle in a large clearing. Surrounding the clearing were tall trees that, to the girl, resembled stilted combatants waving swords above their heads. She was imagining them whispering eerie threats to her before her friend interrupted. “Where are we?” she asked.
Micah paused and rubbed his temple before answering, “I don’t know. All of those strange, winding trails have me turned around.”
Maren sat up straighter in the cage they were sharing. The others that had occupied it with her and the boy were already milling about in the circle. She remembered turning off of the eastward road and spending a long time traveling paths that were hardly suitable for their convoy. She regretted not paying closer attention to their route and was uneasy about having no sense of their location. “That sure was a great pirate show today,” she said plainly as she massaged her left ear.
Micah’s expression lightened, “It was! I had loads of fun.”
The girl turned her eyes toward her companion. She thought for a moment, and then asked, “What was your favorite part?”
“Oh, I’d say the big sword fight with Admiral Cole at the end,” he answered excitedly.
Maren squinted in response, then asked, “What was your scariest part?”
The boy pushed his mouth to one side and raised his eyebrows. “That must have been when Cutthroat Seamus’s ship almost went down in the stormy sea.”
Smiling, the girl continued her questioning, “And what was your funniest part?”
“Hmmm? What do you mean?” the boy asked with a confused expression.
“When did you laugh the loudest?” she asked, not knowing how he could possibly need clarification.
Micah’s enthusiasm began to fade. “I guess when the first mate fell off the ship.”
“What about the most exciting part?”
“Um, I don’t know. I guess I didn’t think that much about it,” the boy explained. He then cleared his throat and stood up to make his way toward the cage’s opening. “I’m going to go see if I can find something to eat,” he said. “I’ll see you later.”
“Okay,” Maren said, now sitting alone. As she looked around, her stomach growled. “Shhh!” she instructed the noise coming from her abdomen. Then she continued ruminating about the pirate show. “Watch your step, Mister Rumly!” she exclaimed in a hushed tone.
“Oh, I’ll be fine. Just let me pull this rope out a little further,” she answered in a deeper, gravelly voice.
“But you’ll—”
“Stop pestering! Pshhhh! Ahhhh! Splash!!”
The young girl giggled as she recalled the scene. As she sat there repeating the dialogue and recounting the action, the world around her seemed to fade away and she was caught up in the salty sea spray, the clashing of swords, and the peril of a pirate’s life at sea.
Suddenly, there was a metallic clanging sound on the side of her cage. “Come on out in the circle!” a man called out. “Important meeting!”
As she stepped out into the ring of wagons, Maren could see the man with the long, gray hair standing on a crate as the people gathered around him. “Over here please!” he yelled. “We need to discuss some things.”
The young
