the camp set up and the firewood gathered, the sooner we can eat.”
Amidst grumbling, Books and Maldynado returned to work. Akstyr sighed dramatically and climbed out of the lorry, though he kept the book tucked under his arm.
“Anything interesting in there?” Amaranthe nodded toward the tome.
“What?” He stared at her, as if surprised she had asked. “Oh. Sure. There are some exercises I found. I need someone to practice on though.”
“Someone injured?”
Akstyr nodded. “So I can try to heal them.”
Basilard banged a wooden spoon against his pot, and the three men hustled over. Amaranthe perched on a stump near Basilard, and he handed her a bowl.
“Wasn’t it Sicarius’s turn to cook?” Amaranthe asked. “I thought you switched with him yesterday.”
Basilard lifted a dismissive hand, even as Maldynado and Akstyr shook their heads vigorously.
“We’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” Books said. “We feel that Sicarius already takes on so much responsibility in regard to our training that it’s not fair to force him to engage in meal-preparation duties. His own training is, of course, paramount to him as well, so we would not wish to burden him with this additional responsibility.”
“I see.” Amaranthe held back a smile. She wondered if Sicarius was close enough to hear. “Just to be clear, are you afraid to ask him to perform the duty when it’s his turn, or do you just not want to eat what he prepares?”
“Afraid?” Maldynado scoffed.
Akstyr snorted. Basilard flicked his hand in dismissal.
Books lowered his voice and leaned toward Amaranthe. “The man doesn’t believe in seasonings. Not even salt!”
With a morose head shake, Basilard stirred his beans and sausage and took a bite.
A howl echoed from the woods.
Amaranthe flinched, almost dropping her bowl. Answering yips and yowls stirred the hair on the back of her neck. The frogs fell silent. Basilard squinted into the gloom, head cocked.
“Just coyotes,” Maldynado told Amaranthe. “You really haven’t been out in the forest much, have you?”
“No,” she admitted, chagrinned her concern was so transparent.
“Well, then, I reckon it’s my job to educate you on what we’ll likely encounter up here.”
“Excuse me?” Books lifted a finger. “How much time have you, a dandy from the warrior caste, spent in the mountains? Weren’t your formative years spent in salons with tutors instructing you in the ways of arrogance and pomposity?”
“Sure.” Maldynado winked. “But we went hunting on family vacations.”
“Go ahead,” Amaranthe told Maldynado. “Keep in mind that I have read books, and I’m not going to be fooled if you try to convince me about made-up monsters that live up here.”
Maldynado touched his chest, eyes wide. “I wouldn’t consider such a thing.”
“Uh huh.”
While Maldynado explained the local fauna, everyone else ate. Akstyr balanced his book in his lap while he spooned food into his mouth. The old tome was hand-written in a painstakingly clean script. Amaranthe wondered how the scribe who had penned it would feel about someone slopping beans onto the pages.
“Are you listening?” Maldynado asked at one point, prodding Akstyr with his foot. “I’m divulging wisdom here.”
“Huh?” Akstyr lifted his head.
“You think your magic is going to help when a bear or ignak lizard tries to eat you?”
“If I learn these healing techniques,” Akstyr said, “I can help if something tries to eat you.”
“As if the forest creatures would be so rude.” Maldynado removed his hat, fluffed the peacock feather, swiped moisture off the brim, and replaced it at a rakish angle. “We’re still waiting for a demonstration of this great magic you’re learning.”
“Science,” Akstyr said.
“Either way, we haven’t seen you do anything except that trick where you made a flame. And you probably just had a match secreted in your hand for that.”
“Did not.”
“Prove it. Heal my hangnail.” Maldynado managed to display said nail while making a rude gesture.
Akstyr put aside his book and food and lunged to his feet, fists clenched.
“What’s the matter?” Maldynado also stood. He prodded Akstyr in the chest with a finger. “Afraid we’ll find out you’re a fraud?”
Amaranthe set her meal down, not sure what Maldynado was trying to do or if she should stop it. Despite his size and his dueling skills, he was a laid-back sort, and she had never seen him pick a fight.
Akstyr slapped the finger away and glowered at Maldynado, a challenge in his eyes. Though slender by comparison and inches shorter, he did not back down.
When Maldynado lunged at him, Akstyr was ready. He jumped to the side, escaping a bear hug designed to force him to the ground. Maldynado reacted quickly, though, and hooked an arm around Akstyr’s waist. Akstyr pulled back, but tripped over a root. He went down, landing on his rump with a cry of pain, or maybe rage. Maldynado scrambled on top of him. Though usually an agile man, he launched a sloppy punch at Akstyr. The bout of fisticuffs resembled a drunken barroom brawl more than a serious scrap, judging by Maldynado anyway. Akstyr appeared confused, hurt, and angry.
Books wore a bewildered are-their-brains-malfunctioning look. Basilard lifted his skillet, pointed at Maldynado, and raised his eyebrows.
“No, don’t hit him on the head yet,” Amaranthe said, though if the scuffle went on much longer, she might do it herself.
“Get off me, you-” Akstyr yelped.
“Problem?” Sicarius asked from behind Amaranthe’s shoulder.
His silent appearance caught her by surprise, as usual, and she jumped.
“I think we’re about to find out if Akstyr truly has magic skills,” she said.
“Science practitioners require concentration, which is not a state easily achieved when-”
Akstyr cried out when a fist connected with his nose. Blood spattered his baggy shirt.
More coyote yips and howls echoed through the forest, loud enough to drown out the grunts and thumps of the men’s fight. Maybe because she was an inexperienced city girl, the yowls sounded eerie to Amaranthe. It was spring. Shouldn’t those coyotes be off finding alluring opposite-sex coyotes to mate with instead of serenading the trees with those agitated shrieks?
Maldynado rolled away and jumped to his feet, landing in a balanced ready stance. He held a hand out. “We’re done.”
On his knees, hands balled into fists and chest heaving, Akstyr snarled at him. “We’re done? What addled ancestor jumped into your head and made you start that?” Blood streamed from his nose. He dashed it away with a sleeve.
“A capricious one.” Maldynado grinned. Though mud smeared his fine clothing and smudged his jaw, he appeared unwounded. “I thought you’d appreciate the opportunity to practice healing.”
Akstyr stared for a long moment before unclenching his fists. “You pummeled me into the ground because you wanted to help me?”
“Yup. You’re a mess now,” Maldynado said. “Can you practice on yourself? Magic, I mean.” His lip quirked.
“It’s easier on other people.” Akstyr sniffed and dabbed at his nose.
“Oh.” Maldynado pushed up a sleeve. “Well, I scraped my elbow on that stump. Want to help it?”
“Right now, I wouldn’t help you if you staggered up to me with a spear sticking out of your chest. I’m going to study. Don’t talk to me again tonight. Any of you.” Akstyr snatched his book and his blanket and stalked to the lorry.
“How long before he realizes he won’t get much studying done without a light?” Books murmured.
Amaranthe dug a lantern out of their gear, lit it, and took it to the lorry. Without a word, she set it down
