Silverkin by Jeff Wheeler
Chapter I
It was an awkward thing for the barter’s son to be gagged. It was impossible to negotiate, reason, or articulate very well with a wad of leather forced between his teeth and tied with a strong knot behind. The Crimson Wolfsmen had gagged Thealos Quickfellow three days earlier to stop his arguments and protests. Tough cords bound his wrists as well, a leash controlled by one of his captors. It was one of the most humiliating times in Thealos’ life. But he said as much as he could with his eyes, and he hoped his glares stung.
Thealos wanted to scream with frustration. Not that it would have done any good in his situation, but the feeling had settled right below his stomach, all twisting and squirming, until he thought it would make him burst. Each day brought them closer to Avisahn, the Shae kingdom he had abandoned. It felt so long ago that he did not think to recognize the foaming river or the huge redwoods and pines on the other side. Each day he expected to be rescued by his protector, and each day ended in torment. Was Jaerod coming? At night he lay awake, listening to every whisper in the dark, every cricket and whistle, waiting for the tingling feeling on the back of his neck that told him the Sleepwalker was near.
It never came.
The quaere of Crimson Wolfsmen bundling him back to the Shae homeland stopped to rest in a small grove of elm trees near the border of the Trident river. They did this more for his benefit than theirs, and they did not speak to him when they loosened the gag and gave him water. He knew that if he tried talking, they would gag him again quickly, even though he had stopped speaking the day before. Everything he had said had been met by coldness and disgust and sometimes anger. Anger that earned a cuff to the side of his head or bonds fastened just a little more snugly. He resented them, especially their leader, Xenon. How he hated the man. His obsession with his mission clouded everything else. Thealos wondered if he could even think for himself or if abandoning that was a prerequisite for becoming a Crimson Wolfsman.
The Wolfsman named Nymir gave him some more water. Thealos gulped it down and took a few strips of boiled beef to ease the hunger raging in his stomach. Sweat trickled down his sides. He wiped his brow with his forearm and tried to ignore the pain throbbing from his swollen wrists. Glancing around, he wondered how far away he was from the place where he had first stumbled onto Tannon’s band weeks ago. He had worn bonds in those days as well, but had managed to talk his way free, despite their distrust of the Shae.
A loud scree announced the arrival of a red-feathered hawk that lighted down on Xenon’s leather bracer. The Wolfsman caressed the bird’s plumage and fed it a morsel from his pouch before taking the tiny cylinder from its claw. One of the other Wolfsmen broke the seal and twisted it open, then unrolled the tiny missive. Thealos rubbed his jaw and watched them. They wore subdued tones and colors without protective armor like hauberks or shields. Most wore their hair long and braided, festooned with red strips of leather or cloth to mark their order. They spoke with their hands as much as their mouths and carried weapons of the highest quality and make—longbows made of pale white yew wood and tassled with silver, short swords with leaf-shaped blades that thrummed the air with Silvan magic, short spears and belted daggers.
The one Wolfsman finished perusing the contents. “Nordain wants the Kilshae boy brought in at night to avoid attention,” he said in Silvan and wrinkled his nose. “Politicians—they make me sick. What does it matter who witnesses his shame? The trial will begin the next morning before the Council of Elders.”
“That will give the Sunedrion enough time to begin debating,” Xenon said and chuckled. “It would save a lot of time if they just prepared a cell now.” Turning his head, he gave Thealos a small smile. “But with such excitement these days, it would be best to see this handled fairly. And none may argue that our Lady Silverborne is fair.” The others joined in with laughter at his play on words. “You may have gray hairs before you see the light of Eroth again, boy. That is a long time indeed.”