Выбрать главу

“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 beside Akstyr, who was propped in the back, scowling at his book. She returned to the campfire.

After a moment of sullen silence, Akstyr said, “Thanks.”

“Interesting tactics,” Amaranthe told Maldynado.

“Yes, I’m creative. Like a brilliant general inspiring his army to acts of greatness.”

“Or acts of mutiny,” Books muttered.

“Hush, or I’ll thump you up for Akstyr to practice on.”

Sicarius crouched next to Amaranthe. “Something is off out there.”

“What do you mean?”

He flicked his gaze toward the pond, where the frogs remained silent. Mist gathered amongst the ferns overreaching the filmy water.

Amaranthe strapped on her short sword and a pistol, then followed him to the water’s edge to talk privately.

“What is it?” She turned her back to the pond, preferring the view of the fire-and their lorry full of weapons. The coyotes and the mists had her thinking of stories her father had told her as a girclass="underline" tales of dark nights when people were haunted by deranged ancestor spirits resentful of their living kin.

A twig snapped in the distance. Amaranthe’s hand brushed her pistol before she caught herself. Just some nocturnal animal hunting for grub. Besides, Sicarius stood an arm’s length away. He could probably kill anything in the forest barehanded. Though the way something in the woods arrested his attention stole some of the comfort his presence usually offered.

“Sicarius?” she prompted.

“I’m as much a city-dweller as you,” he said, “but I had complete wilderness-lore training, and I’ve spent many nights in forests.”

“I don’t doubt it.” She shifted her weight. It was not like him to verbally defend his skills-there was no need.

“The coyotes sound…off,” he said. “Those aren’t their usual cries.”

“Off, how?”

“Fearful, distressed. I’ve been scouting, and many animals are displaying signs of agitation.”

“Maybe our presence is disturbing them,” Amaranthe said.

The coyotes picked up their cries again, closer now. This time, she did let her hand come to rest on the butt of the pistol.

“You stand first watch,” Sicarius said. “Let me sleep for a couple hours, then I’ll take the rest of the night.”

“We do have six people here,” Amaranthe said.

“Not that I trust to stay awake and alert.”

He strode back into camp before she could respond. She understood doubting Akstyr or Maldynado, but she had faith Books and especially Basilard, who seemed more comfortable in the forest than any of them, would stand a responsible watch. She had more faith in them than herself. In the city, she knew what to expect. Out here, how did a novice tell the difference between the innocent activity of nocturnal creatures and more sinister sounds?