Abruptly, Chall’s moans of contentment suddenly changed to sputters of disgust as he struggled out from beneath the hulking beast, desperately pawing at his tongue—the pig hadn’t been the only one doing the licking—and kicking his way backward until he fetched up against something hard. That something, as it turned out, was the side of a wagon bed and, just like that—as if by magic, a particularly assholey, bitchy kind of magic—he remembered where he was and how he’d come to be there.
As for the where, he was in a wagon currently traveling toward the village of Celdar and as for the how, well, that had been a rather unpleasant night spent fleeing half-naked down the street from guards, a few minutes spent stealing a pair of trousers which were, unfortunately purple and were also, at it happened, far too tight for him, then a morning sneaking his way out of the city. He had seen city guardsmen ignore some terrible atrocities in his time—robbery, certainly, muggings absolutely, even a few kidnappings. But apparently, they drew the line at a trouserless fat man running down the street as if such a man would possibly have wound up there on purpose.
“Ah, you’re awake.”
“Unfortunately,” Chall muttered, turning to look at the man riding in the front of the wagon, the skin of his face so tanned and leathery that it looked like some animal’s hide—though not a damned pig, that much was sure.
The man frowned, adjusting the piece of grass in his mouth. “What’s that s’pose to mean?”
“Nothing,” Chall said. “Never mind. Anyway, are we there yet?”
The man studied him for another few seconds with narrowed eyes, then hocked and spat, somehow managing to keep the green stem of grass in his mouth as he did. “Nearly. Celdar’s right over that hill, yonder,” he said, cocking a thumb ahead of them to indicate an incline in the road ahead. “With the gods’ graces, we ought to be there in half an hour.”
“You ask me, the gods stopped handing out grace a long time ago,” Chall said, working his tongue around on his teeth to try to get the last remnants of pig hair off. “Who knows, maybe they ran out. Or took a holiday.”
The farmer frowned again. “Don’t much care for that kind of talk, mister. You aim to blaspheme, you can do it on someone else’s wagon, understand? Or finish the trip with a walk, if you’ve a mind. Though”—he paused, flashing a look of disgust at the purple trousers Chall wore—“who’s to say whether or not you’d be able to walk in those things.”
It was Chall’s turn to frown. Sure, maybe the trousers weren’t exactly the best fit—fact was, he would have laid even odds that he would have burst out of them by now—but they were certainly better than him walking around with his fruits dangling for everybody to see. “I can walk just fine, thank you. And—” He cut off, slapping at a pig’s snout as the thing sniffed at him. “Get off me, you damned beast.”
“Alright,” the man said, “that’s it.” He clucked at the donkey, giving a tug on the reins, and the beast came to a stop, casting a look over its shoulder as if to see what all the fuss was about. “Go on then,” the man said. “Off with you.”
“Fine,” Chall snapped, doing his best to maintain his dignity and—more importantly—avoid several fresh piles of pig leavings as he climbed out of the back of the wagon. “Tell your wife I said hi—or nevermind.” He cast a look at the half a dozen pigs milling about the wagon. “Just tell me which one she is—I’ll say it myself.”
The next thing he knew, he was sitting on his ass in the road, the purple trousers riding up into some unwanted places so aggressively Chall had a thought to call the guard. Not that there was likely to be any guard in a shitty little town like Celdar. There was the farmer, though, the man standing over him even now, his fisted hands on his hips as he stared down at Chall. “Don’t much appreciate folks talkin’ about my wife. Now, you best learn you some manners, fella, before somebody learns ‘em to you.”
“What does that even—you know what?” Chall sighed. “Never mind. I’m sorry, alright? About the thing I said about your wife. That wasn’t kind.” And then, because fools will be fools and he’d never claimed any different, he turned back to the pigs. “Sorry, ma’am.”
It took him a bit longer to lever himself to a sitting position the second time. The farmer was still there, watching him. He didn’t look angry, as he had before. Or, at least, not only that. He was staring at Chall in a manner usually reserved for insane people. Which, considering that Chall had not ignored the dream but had chosen instead to go find Maeve, probably was just about what he deserved. “What’s your deal, fella? You got a death wish?”
Chall considered the dream he’d had, considered, too, the time he’d spent with his team, Maeve and all the rest, and he started
