The bandits had dismounted and were searching the area.
I ducked under the bush, ignoring the many thorns that raked across my face and arms, and prayed that the loud snapping of branches was just a quiet rustle outside my head.
Burrowing as deep as I dared, I waited. My breath was shaky and ragged, and I tried not to imagine all the horrible possibilities that could await me if I were found. I willed myself to breathe slowly, letting my racing heart ease. It was no use.
I could hear their voices. They were getting louder. A flutter of soft wind brought the rancid smell of days’ old sweat and ale, and I wondered how close they were. The bush I hid under smelled oddly sweet, like some sort of forest berry. I hoped its leaves would hide me well.
How many had followed me? I wondered. Where was Alex right now? Was he still riding west? I strained to hear the approaching voices.
…Saw the boy limping…” one was saying.
Another man cleared his throat. “He couldn’t have gone far.”
There were only two that I could distinguish. If there were a third man, he was staying silent. Judging from the number of footsteps, however, I was inclined to go with the former.
The crunching of pine needles a mere step away froze my heart in my throat.
One of the men was right beside the bush. I could hear the shuffling of feet against some of the outlying roots. I made a silent prayer to the gods that he would continue on.
“I reckon he went the other way, Jared,” the man said. “There’s nothing this way but brush.”
“Naw, he’s got to be this way.”
The voices were now both coming from the same spot just above me. My pulse pounded so violently I was certain they could hear it. I refused to breathe as I waited for them to pass.
“Smells good out here,” the first was saying.
“It’s the blackberries, you dolt,” the second man, Jared, replied. He shoved a hand in to grasp at a dark clumping of fruit and pulled it back back with a curse: “Fool thorns!”
The other man pushed past and reached in further, managing to catch a hand full of berries and my hair in the process. I didn’t realize some of it had come loose from my braid, tangled in the thorns until the man yanked his fist back. As the hair ripped from my scalp an unwilling cry escaped my lips.
I slapped a hand over my mouth, but it was too late. They had heard me.
The next second flew past in a blur as the men yanked me from my den and tossed me roughly to the bare forest ground at their feet.
“Well, well,” Jared drawled. “Seems your appetite has it uses, Erwan.” He slapped the second man, a tall fellow with a big gut and muddy boots, on the back.
It was hard to see either of their faces as I struggled to push myself up off the ground. The bandits allowed me to draw myself onto my knees, making crude remarks and laughing as I fumbled once or twice before finally sitting upright.
“Now, boy,” said Erwan. “Tell us where you and your little friend were headed.”
I breathed a small sigh of relief. With all the blood and grime covering my brother’s riding clothes they had mistaken me for a redheaded young man. The tunic was baggy, and though ripped at the arms, it still hid my form well.
I stayed silent, unwilling to answer for fear that my voice would reveal what my clothes did not.
“The man asked you a question,” Jared growled. “Answer him.”
Silence. And then the loud, resounding slap as Jared’s palm struck my cheek. My face stung and bled in places the thorns had already opened.
“Now,” Jared said. “I’ll give you one more chance to answer before I start removing limbs.” The bandit was holding a sword. It bore the familiar crest of the Crown’s Army. But this man was no soldier. No man who pledged to defend Jerar and its people would dishonor the Code of Honor.
I wondered how the weapon had fallen into the outlaw’s hands. Had his band cornered a lonely soldier on some deserted trail and robbed him blind, much like they were planning to do to my brother and me? Or had Jared killed him to prevent the soldier from seeking justice afterward?
There was an odd stain on the hilt, much like the rusty color of blood. Bile rose in my throat, and I forced myself to swallow it back down. In the gruffest voice I could manage, I coughed, “The Academy.”
Jared’s eyes glittered dangerously.
“Did he just say—”
“The Academy?” Jared nudged my face with his boot. “You an apprentice, boy?” He was studying my face closely.
The large man, Erwan, laughed loudly. “Some mage! Where’s your magic?”
My face burned and I looked away.
“So you are one of the first-years, then,” Jared surmised. His expression turned from interest to disgust. “The boy’s no use. Just another village kid on his way to that blasted school. Fools, always thinking they have a gift when they should be doing real work instead.”
I kept quiet, hoping the men would dismiss me as worthless and continue on in pursuit of the mare.