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  Lost in shame, she almost bumped into Erok. He was studying a tuft of black fur caught upon a barbed vine. Plucking it free, he waved it under a nostril, wrinkled his nose in disgust, and held it for her to sniff. She stroked the coarse strands. They were hair rather than fur, and the musty odour was unmistakable.

  “We camp early tonight,” Erok said. His stride found extra purpose as they negotiated a path overgrown with thin roots and bordered by tumbled boulders. They had not gone far on the sloping track when Erok stopped again. She waited for his explanation. He turned and sniffed in each direction.

  “What is it?”

  “What do you smell?” he asked.

  Beneath the damp decay of leaf-strewn earth, she inhaled the refreshing scent of the trees. “Forest.”

  “What forest?”

  She bit her lip, confused, and sniffed again. The air held a hint of the needles her brother Toko had found on his first wander.

  “Cypress,” she said, looking up at him.

  Erok unslung his spear, handed her his kill, and crept forward with the caution of a hunter stalking prey. Sian arranged the meat on top of the apricots and followed close. She knew better than to talk as they picked their way over the rocks and roots crisscrossing the path. To their right, a cliff formed a rising wall. To their left, a steep, wooded gully descended to a hidden valley. When they had covered several tree lengths, Erok climbed up the rock to a ledge, and scanned the rustling forest. He moved right past her when he returned, and scrambled through the birches on the mossy slope. He returned frowning.

  “I don’t understand,” she said.

  “Why do we smell cypress?”

  She grappled with the question, shook her head.

  “Why cypress?” he repeated. This time she understood it was not a question he expected her to answer. “This tree grows on the plains.”

  “It grows in the northeast of the Olono Ranges.” Toko had boasted of how the hills turned into giant, freezing mountains at the precipitous edge of the land.

  “Yes, but it does not grow here.”

  He picked up the meat, she lifted the basket, and they walked on.

  “Did we come this way?” Nothing looked familiar. And everything did. Tree after branching tree covered hill after rocky hill, most indistinguishable from the ones around it.

  “A little further east. The way there is easier, but longer.” He held up a hand as the scent grew stronger. Further on, at the base of a sweep of grass that curved onto the ridge of the next hill, a cave gawped in the hillside. Erok detached his water bladder and sidled down the incline, spear at the ready. Leaving the apricots, Sian followed. Her feet squished on the soggy moss, and water seeped into her leather and bark boots. She skipped between rocks to keep her balance, and slid into one of the cypress saplings growing at the entrance to the cave. Erok unearthed the smallest of them.

  “Someone tampers with the forest.”

  They crept into the narrow cave. Pine needles littered the entrance. A lot of them. Underneath their fresh scent another smell lingered, musty and foetid. Sian gripped Erok’s shirt. He pointed out and gestured up, but she let go, shook her head and stepped closer to him. He chewed as he looked at her. Then he nodded. They stole deeper inside, none too quiet with pine needles fresh and dried crunching beneath their soles. The passage branched. Erok sniffed and moved left. Ahead, light glowed in a small chamber. Grunts and scuffles warned it was occupied. Erok threw a hand across her, pressing her against the wall. She leaned against it to see who was there. A fire crackled in the centre of the room. She relaxed. Ogres hated flame.

  A hairy, sinewy body should not have loped across the cavern, dragging a club more than half its size. It prodded a rock near the wall of the cave. The rock grunted and moved. Another ogre rose, hooting at the first. Sian’s mouth went dry. Holding a finger to his lips, Erok pushed her out. She moved slow, careful where she placed her foot. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the ogres sniff each other’s face. She thought she and Erok might escape notice until the first ogre, a huge male, tossed his head and sniffed. Raising his club, he yowled, and charged. They ran. Made it to the fork, where hoots echoed from the other passage. An ogre darted out and swung his club at Erok. It caught him across the shoulders. The hunter fell. Sian screamed.

  “Go,” Erok grunted. He rolled and brought his spear up. Inside the reach of the point, the ogre grabbed it, broke it in two and flung it away before bringing his club down on Erok’s head. Her hunter lay still. Sian screamed, edged along the wall. As she turned to run a huge, hairy hand grabbed her shirt. The fabric ripped as she lunged for the exit. A hand swiped at her side. She dodged to evade the ogre’s grasp, clipped her toe on a rock, and fell. She stretched out to the pool of light spilling into the mouth of the cave. Sunlight warmed her fingers but the ogre grabbed her by one ankle and yanked, dragging her all the way inside.

  In the cavern, Erok lay senseless. An ogre was binding his hands to his side with a vine. Another was wrapping a thick climber that dangled from the roof around his feet. Hauling on another vine, they strung him up. His head hung a foot from the floor and blood dripped from the wound at his temple. His face was reddening from the rush of blood, but he didn’t move.

  Earth Spirits, don’t let him be dead.

  She cowered as her captor stood over her and beat his chest. His hoots summoned others. There were four, five of them and more pouring in. A female bent to pinch her arms, prod her ribs and squeeze her thighs. She clucked and turned her attention to Erok, hooting at the others. An argument broke out. One ogre shoved another and soon they were all hitting each other. Sian crawled to Erok.

  “Wake up.” She shook his shoulder, which set him swinging. “Wake up.” Spirits help her, he didn’t even flicker an eyelid.

  “Shtop!” a deep voice growled. A club smashed against the wall. Sian jumped. “Shtop!”

  Every single ogre ceased its brawl and turned to the cavern entrance. The creature standing there had the heavy brow and muscled, hairy body of an ogre, but lighter skin, and a mop of black wiry hair where his skull should have sprouted fuzz. Even the taller, broader males lurched out of its path as it lumbered in, a stone knife in one hand, a wooden club in the other. Sian curled up and squeaked as it poked her with the club, driving her away from Erok and against the side wall where it ran its hairy hands over her.

  “Gir-erl,” it said at last, squatting and sniffing about her face.

  The male which had dragged her in beat his chest. The newcomer stood and flashed the knife. The big ogre roared. The man-ogre pointed to Erok, a gesture which set the ogres grumbling. It grunted and pointed at the fire. Some of the ogres lumbered around the flames on feet and knuckles. Others snarled and left.

  “Gor,” the creature said pointing to his chest. Sian huddled against the rock. “Gor,” he said again, tapping his chest. He pointed to her. “Yow.” When she remained silent, he smashed the club above her head. She flinched. “Yow.”

  “Sian.”

  The creature grimaced, revealing two gaps in his front teeth. “Gor,” he said, again pointing at himself. “Shan.” He pointed to her. Nodding, Sian tried to crawl past him. Gor kicked. She yelped as his foot connected with her side, and shifted against the wall. “Shan shtay.”

  Sian wiped a tear from her cheek. Gor grunted and a small female scurried over with a golden peach. He offered it to her. She looked at Erok, who was still out cold, the wound on his head oozing blood. Snorting, Gor held the fruit to her mouth. “Preshent.” Sian turned her head but he pushed it past her lips. “Preshent.” The sticky flesh squashed around her mouth.

  “Gor hash gir-erl.” He flashed a repulsive grin. Sian shuffled so she sat side on to his nauseous stink. A gentle finger brushed her cheek. His touch sent shudders down her spine. The grin widened. “Gir-erl give Gor preshent.” She huddled tighter. “Preshent, preshent,” Gor insisted, hitting the wall beside her head with the palm of his hand.

  Sobbing, Sian opened the seed po
uch at her hip and held out a handful. Gor popped a few into his mouth and swallowed. He pressed his mouth to her face and licked at the peach with his barbed tongue. Sian beat at him, but his chest was as hard as stone. He pinned her arms against the wall and moved his tongue over her lips, licking up the sticky pulp. Please, Sky Spirits, not now, was all she could think before the world darkened and she toppled into oblivion.

  Chapter 7

  “IS THAT CLEAR?” Mahktashaan Fenz asked. His lean face was set in a no-nonsense expression.

  “Yes, Mahktashaan,” Vinsant said to the violet crystal at his chest even though the novelty of his new bedroom had distracted him from the minekeeper’s list of chores. The smooth stone blocks that formed the walls fitted against each other with perfect precision. Setting them in place this deep underground must have been a labourer’s horror. Another of the architect’s marvels to ponder when he lounged in the proper bed that sat the length of one wall. Provided it surpassed a cushion of air, of course.

  “Follow me.”

  Just when Vinsant had thought he was learning to navigate the maze of caverns, Fenz had led him out of his cell and into the living quarters with its proper rooms. The huge dwelling area was built within the vast caverns, the minekeeper had explained.

  “Yes!” Vinsant shouted, when told he was no longer confined to the dungeon. “Yes!” he shouted again when he spied his golden-hilted Myklaani sword laid on the bed. Too bad he had had no time to relax before Fenz launched into the order of the day. And now Fenz was leading him to the mines by a different route. Escape from drudgery posed rather a problem under the circumstances.

  As they passed through a tunnel adjacent to the one Vinsant had been working, a fit young man in the blue churidar kurta of an apprentice hacked at the rock face. Seeing them, he shook his brown hair off his face in the manner of one accustomed to displaying his chiselled features to perfection.

  “He isn’t shackled,” Vinsant observed.

  “Apprentice Tokver is not a prisoner.” Mahktashaan Fenz nodded at the pick. Vinsant held out his hands for the crystal studded shackles. “Your sentence is complete. You will no longer be bound. However, heed this well, apprentice. The crystals you find must be fit to offer Mahktos.”

  Which, Vinsant supposed, meant he had best mine them with his own hard labour, rather than risk a cave in by throwing his unpredictable magic at the rock. Though why a god who bestowed magic on His devotees would frown upon them using that same magic was a mega mystery. He sighed. The single good thing about being forced to continue work in the mines was that now he was a free man, he was left unattended.

  “Have you found any?” he asked Tokver, just scratching at the rock. The need to labour had fled with his sentence.

  “I would hardly be here if I had,” Tokver said moving down the shaft.

  “I found one just down there,” Vinsant called. The arrogant scum-sucking leech just strode deeper into the tunnel. “Well I hope you don’t find one, then,” Vinsant said, slipping out of sight around a corner. He chipped away at a vein of quartz as hard as Tokver’s ego. The clear patch at one end had to be a crystal. A peep around the corner showed his fellow apprentice was hard at work.

  “Slacking off?” Tokver enquired.

  “I’ve found one. Have you?”

  Vinsant smirked at the jealous sulk. Served him right.

  In his own tunnel, he picked at the rock until he freed the crystal. A bit of exploring found him a shallow crevice in the rock. No one was watching, so he dropped the crystal in, plugged the opening with a narrow rock, and scored a mark on the rough floor so he would remember where it was stashed. He was happy to return to the backbreaking work now. He even found two more crystals in the designated hour of labour. Had he ever picked a ripper of a tunnel! The last minutes of toil were best spent edging close to Tokver so the man could stare at Vinsant’s prizes and regret his rudeness.

  The only comment Fenz made when Vinsant deposited two of the three crystals he had found into his hand was, “You will attend magic instruction.” After the minekeeper made an abrupt turn, Vinsant mimed a ha ha at the unsuccessful Tokver. The leech just tossed his head like it didn’t matter at all he hadn’t found a thing. Well, scums if Vinsant was going to waste any more time trying to make friends. Rubbing his sore shoulder, he followed Fenz to the practice rooms.

  The minekeeper conjured a ball of light. “Keep this afloat until your teacher arrives. You may practice what magic you have been instructed in, but no more.”

  Vinsant wandered about the small, rough chamber, summoning the bowls, daggers and other implements sitting on shelves carved into the rock. He was about to summon water into a bowl and attempt to scry when an energetic mahktashaan with a beige crystal entered.

  “Good morning, Apprentice Vinsant. I am Mahktashaan Padesh. I hope to teach you some basic healing. The minoria is the most adept among us at the art, but no doubt he will instruct you in time.”

  “Oh.” He supposed it would have been rude to ask why Levi was not attending to his lessons today. Well, to deserve instruction from the best he would have to demonstrate just how proficient he was. He closed his eyes and conjured a salve from Nocrates’s shelves. “Can we start with soothing sore muscles?” He tilted the pot. He had no idea if it was the right concoction.

  “That was well worked, but you won’t need it.” The mahktashaan waved a hand and the pot disappeared. “Here. Let me show you.” Vinsant blinked as Padesh put hands on his shoulders. Much to his delight, soothing heat spread into his achy muscles. Vinsant became attentive. “This is basic magic,” Padesh said. “The least of us can wield it. Now concentrate.” As different from the dour majoria as this mahktashaan was, that last word made it impossible to keep a straight face.

  “Let me try.”

  “Caution, apprentice. Irreparable harm can come if this skill is poorly wielded.”

  “Er. . .maybe this is something I shouldn’t try.” His past performances were not exactly stellar.

  The mahktashaan laughed. “I can guide your magic. But you must be willing to make mind contact.”

  Vinsant shrugged. “Sure.” He had a flash of his thievery. The repercussions of having a mahktashaan discover his betrayal turned him cold. “As long as you don’t poke anywhere you shouldn’t,” he added.

  A couple of complete failures and one minor burn later, Vinsant had the gist of it.

  “For now, you will practice this magic only under supervision,” Padesh said.

  “I suppose you could burn someone if you didn’t concentrate,” Vinsant said.

  “Quite,” Padesh replied.

  “Like the djinn burned the majoria’s arm.”

  Padesh assumed a more serious expression. “You will wait here for your next instructor.”

  Left alone, Vinsant tried to recall what it was Fenz had dictated he do next.

  “Apprentice Vinsant, my name is Gerosh,” a mahktashaan with a navy crystal said. “I am to try to teach you to protect yourself.”

  Now this was a useful skill indeed. Sword strokes and magical bolts bounced right off shields. The bumps, scrapes and scratches Gerosh seemed to delight in inflicting were a great incentive to get the finicky magic right. Then the mahktashaan added a twist that drove Vinsant insane as he attempted to shield just his front, or his arm, or one side of his body.

  “A pleasing effort,” Navy Crystal admitted, making Vinsant grin even though he was shaking, because controlling a partial shield had turned out to be way more difficult than erecting one.

  “Apprentice Vinsant,” said another mahktashaan with an aqua crystal. “The majoria has requested I attempt to instruct you to fight with magic.”

  This was turning out to be a most productive day.

  “The mahktashaan tell me you master our arts,” Levi said, appearing at the end of the lesson.

  Settling from his excited jumping and whooping, Vinsant beamed and summoned his magic. Levi had to commend him for the extraordinary feat of sending
two magical bolts at an object, from opposite directions, no less.

  But all Levi said was, “You may defer swordplay in favour of lore this afternoon.”

  That privilege was as good as praise. “I concentrated,” he said, not trying to keep the tease out of his voice.

  “Then I shall accept no further excuse.”

  The man really was humourless. Awesome, but way too sombre.

  Back in the living quarters, after a lunch of vegetable stew, Levi ushered him into the antechamber of a library. Study tables complete with parchment and ink were set up so the students faced the middle of the room, where a rough three-sided stone statue of Mahktos sat, as it did in most of the common areas. The neat piles of parchment and full inkwells promised boredom, so Vinsant wandered through a large pair of ebony doors into the inner room. He whistled at wall-to-wall mahogany shelves lined with heavy tomes, many gathering dust. Depositing a volume into his arms, Levi pointed him out of the room, across a thick rug woven with an intricate pattern of crossed swords. No surprise another pedestal and Mahktos statue, marble this time, sat at its centre. From the antechamber, Vinsant entered a recess, flopped into one of several comfortable chairs set before a hearth filled with balls of heat, and settled the oversized book on his lap. The duties and privileges of a mahktashaan by Majoria Guntek. Now this was more like it, if he skipped straight to part two.

  “It is a copy,” Levi said, allaying his fears of smudging centuries-old pages. “You may return here at any opportunity. A mahktashaan must be well read and well versed in all our lore.” He settled in the armchair next to Vinsant. “For today, you will benefit from a question and answer session.”