When Ravens Call: The Fourth Book in the Small Gods Epic Fantasy Series (The Books of the Small Gods by Bruce Blake (books under 200 pages txt) 📗

passed, and he hoped the odd and frightening pair of riders had forgotten him. When he raised his head again, he found both sets of eyes boring into him.

"Well?"

"Draekfarren," he blurted. "He sent me to Draekfarren because I have the fastest horse. Fastest in the kingdom, I'd wager. Faster'n every—"

"I don't care about the fleetness of your steed," Trenan snapped. "Why are you headed for the seat of the king?"

Gihl felt as though someone slapped him across the face. His breathing shallowed as the master swordsman pulled a finger's breadth of steel free of his scabbard. A fat drop of rain struck Gihl's eye, blinding him as he blinked it away. He was about to meet his end on a muddy road in the middle of nowhere carrying out a task in which he had no business being involved. In fact, with the feared warrior staring at him, awaiting his reply, he couldn't remember why Krin had dispatched him on this miserable journey. Because he owed too much on his tab? No, he found himself here because he owned the fastest horse in Woodsel. But why did he send him? What was the message he meant him to carry? He searched his memory for the last things he remembered before the barkeep showed up at his table and tossed the coins in front of him. He'd been enjoying a pint when something disturbed the calm in Krin's Tavern.

But what?

Not a fight—too early in the day for that. He recalled visitors, but nothing out of the ordinary. Just the weapons merchants. What were their names? Sheckle and Pive? But it wasn't them who'd so concerned Krin, but the young women with them. He hadn't seen them, but the barkeep recognized one of them, which caused his upset.

Gihl's eyes widened.

"The princess," he whispered.

Trenan yanked two more fingers of steel free of the scabbard and prompted his horse closer for Gihl to witness the day's gray light glimmer on his weapon. He contorted his face into a frown, a threat not to lie. Gihl shriveled before him, shrinking back into his saddle.

"What of Danya? Have you seen her?"

"See, Trenan? We must go," the woman said.

"Krin did," Gihl replied, voice trembling. "He told me to ride fast as the wind, but I don't think the wind can sit a horse."

The master swordsman pursed his lips. The muscles in his jaw tightened, and he urged his steed two steps closer, bringing him within arm's reach. When he spoke, he did so with precision, emphasizing each word.

Gihl shifted in his saddle, the sudden urge to urinate making it impossible for him to find a comfortable position. He glanced from Trenan to the woman, then past them to the group of riders behind them, wondered who they were, why they were there, where they might be going. The hiss of steel on leather jerked his attention back to the one-armed man. The tip of Trenan's sword hovered a hand's breadth from his neck. Gihl gulped.

"Tell me everything, simpleton, and do it now."

The bump in Gihl's throat rose and fell again, his panicked saliva clicking as he swallowed. His mouth opened, lips quivering as he attempted to wet them with his tongue with little success.

"Two men," he said, his arms crossed, hugging himself as he rocked in the saddle trying his best not to void his bladder. "They had her."

"What men?"

"Th...the weapons merchants."

"What do they look like?"

Gihl hesitated, rivulets of rain coursing down his cheek all but unnoticed with the threat of death poised in front of his eyes. Trenan moved the pointed end of the blade forward and he flinched, turned his head away.

"One tall and skinny, the other shorter, wider."

"Fellick and Ive."

He shrugged, the message the barkeep meant him to pass along flooding back to him at the last second. "Krin said to tell the king they were taking her toward sunset."

"The Green," the woman interjected, her words directed to Trenan, not to him for confirmation.

Gihl watched them stare hard at each other but didn't move, the tip of the swordsman's weapon hovering a finger's breadth from his throat. It went on long enough he worried they might have forgotten him and he'd never move again without the risk of slitting his gullet. Finally, whatever held them dissipated, and the soldier lowered his sword then slipped it into its scabbard with more ease and grace than a one-armed should be capable of. Gihl inhaled a shuddering breath, kept it for two heartbeats, and released it again, hoping this meant he might live after all.

"Can..." He stopped, swallowed hard. "Can I go home?"

The master swordsman brought his gaze to bear on him. The intensity of his expression made Gihl want to slide from his horse and run off into the forest, never to look back. His bladder failed him.

"You have a duty to the kingdom. Continue on to Draekfarren and seek a soldier called Osis. Tell him everything you've told me. And tell him I sent you."

The master swordsman put his heels to his steed, and the animal responded at once, moving past Gihl and continuing on the muddy track, hooves splashing in deepening puddles. The woman came next, fixing him with a gaze rivaling that of the king's man. He shrank away from her, happy his rain-wet pants hid his loss of bladder control.

Without a gesture from either of them, the rest of the warriors followed, twin columns of riders flowing past on either side, a stream of horse flesh and armor parting around a shaking rock. When they'd passed, he remained where he sat, neither prompting his steed to move nor turning to watch them go. Even after the sounds of hooves on wet track disappeared, he waited, shivering, wishing to be anywhere else. Raindrops beat on his head, ran down his face, threatened