women!” said another. “I’m going to set myself up in a fine house with servants.”
“What’ll you do with your share, boss?”
Ysbott smiled with his thin lips. “I’m only interested in money,” he said, “if it can buy me Helki’s scalp. It’ll look good dangling from my belt.”
Jack despised them. He’d seen Helki kill a giant in single combat; this fellow Ysbott wasn’t worth the dirt under Helki’s fingernails. Ysbott dreamed of being the king of Lintum Forest. Maybe he hoped to hire assassins to kill Helki.
“What fools!” Jack thought. Whatever money they got for him, they would fritter it away and soon be as penniless as ever. That’s what his stepfather, Van, used to do whenever he had money, and even Van was a better man than any of these.
How terrible it was to be a boy! A grown man like the baron would scatter these cowards like starlings. They never would have gotten the best of Martis, if they hadn’t all attacked him by surprise when he was up to his knees in water. Even one of the little, wiry Attakotts in King Ryons’ army could kill them all.
He was scandalized that God would let such contemptible creatures as these get away with any of their crimes. As outlaws in the forest, they lived by terrorizing isolated settlers. Helki had chased them out of Lintum Forest, so now they’d turned their hands to kidnapping. What heroes!
“You aren’t going to get any money at all,” Jack couldn’t help saying, “once they find out I’m not the king. If you really want King Ryons, why don’t you go back to Lintum Forest and try to take him? It ought to be easy for brave men like you!”
The man who was carrying him across his shoulders stopped. “That’ll be enough out of you, Your Royal Cusset Highness!” he growled.
“Easy on the merchandise,” said Ysbott. “The prattling of a child can’t hurt you, Neff. Or have you suddenly developed tender feelings?”
“It isn’t right that he should sass us.”
“His sassing days will soon be over, once we get to Silvertown. That should be in just another day or two—if you can stop your dawdling.”
They were already heading back uphill. Spurred on by Ysbott, they’d made better time than Jack thought possible. The mountains towered over them, but they weren’t going that far up: just to Silvertown, and to whatever fate lay waiting for him there, Jack thought.
The men marched at a brisk pace, and Jack prayed silently, fearful that his prayers would go unheard.
The great bird was annoyed.
A ridiculously tiny red-haired creature was harassing her so that she couldn’t dine in peace. Indeed, she had yet to begin her meal. There lay the man, half-dead, just waiting to be devoured—and this little nuisance screeched and jabbered at her, dancing all around and trying to threaten her with a tiny twig.
She darted her head and snapped at it, but her jaws came together with only a loud “clack!” to show for it. She was more than annoyed; now she was positively furious.
“Parasite! Carrion eater! Big clumsy lizard! I empty my glands in your direction!”
Wytt’s insults meant nothing to the bird, although they were among the most offensive known to the Omah. But his shrill cries went right to the bone, and now nothing would satisfy the bird but to crush this little hairy pest in her beak. She forgot the meal in front of her. Hissing like a serpent, she chased Wytt, striking at him again and again but always missing. The more often she missed, the greater burned her rage.
So it was when thirteen men rode up on thirteen horses, and the rays of the sinking sun glinted red off the points of twelve good spears. The men shouted and brandished the spears, and the bird had to take notice of that. She threatened them with gaping jaws, but they ignored that and advanced on her. Too many men, too many spears! With a final defiant, frustrated cry, the
“What’ll you do with your share, boss?”
Ysbott smiled with his thin lips. “I’m only interested in money,” he said, “if it can buy me Helki’s scalp. It’ll look good dangling from my belt.”
Jack despised them. He’d seen Helki kill a giant in single combat; this fellow Ysbott wasn’t worth the dirt under Helki’s fingernails. Ysbott dreamed of being the king of Lintum Forest. Maybe he hoped to hire assassins to kill Helki.
“What fools!” Jack thought. Whatever money they got for him, they would fritter it away and soon be as penniless as ever. That’s what his stepfather, Van, used to do whenever he had money, and even Van was a better man than any of these.
How terrible it was to be a boy! A grown man like the baron would scatter these cowards like starlings. They never would have gotten the best of Martis, if they hadn’t all attacked him by surprise when he was up to his knees in water. Even one of the little, wiry Attakotts in King Ryons’ army could kill them all.
He was scandalized that God would let such contemptible creatures as these get away with any of their crimes. As outlaws in the forest, they lived by terrorizing isolated settlers. Helki had chased them out of Lintum Forest, so now they’d turned their hands to kidnapping. What heroes!
“You aren’t going to get any money at all,” Jack couldn’t help saying, “once they find out I’m not the king. If you really want King Ryons, why don’t you go back to Lintum Forest and try to take him? It ought to be easy for brave men like you!”
The man who was carrying him across his shoulders stopped. “That’ll be enough out of you, Your Royal Cusset Highness!” he growled.
“Easy on the merchandise,” said Ysbott. “The prattling of a child can’t hurt you, Neff. Or have you suddenly developed tender feelings?”
“It isn’t right that he should sass us.”
“His sassing days will soon be over, once we get to Silvertown. That should be in just another day or two—if you can stop your dawdling.”
They were already heading back uphill. Spurred on by Ysbott, they’d made better time than Jack thought possible. The mountains towered over them, but they weren’t going that far up: just to Silvertown, and to whatever fate lay waiting for him there, Jack thought.
The men marched at a brisk pace, and Jack prayed silently, fearful that his prayers would go unheard.
The great bird was annoyed.
A ridiculously tiny red-haired creature was harassing her so that she couldn’t dine in peace. Indeed, she had yet to begin her meal. There lay the man, half-dead, just waiting to be devoured—and this little nuisance screeched and jabbered at her, dancing all around and trying to threaten her with a tiny twig.
She darted her head and snapped at it, but her jaws came together with only a loud “clack!” to show for it. She was more than annoyed; now she was positively furious.
“Parasite! Carrion eater! Big clumsy lizard! I empty my glands in your direction!”
Wytt’s insults meant nothing to the bird, although they were among the most offensive known to the Omah. But his shrill cries went right to the bone, and now nothing would satisfy the bird but to crush this little hairy pest in her beak. She forgot the meal in front of her. Hissing like a serpent, she chased Wytt, striking at him again and again but always missing. The more often she missed, the greater burned her rage.
So it was when thirteen men rode up on thirteen horses, and the rays of the sinking sun glinted red off the points of twelve good spears. The men shouted and brandished the spears, and the bird had to take notice of that. She threatened them with gaping jaws, but they ignored that and advanced on her. Too many men, too many spears! With a final defiant, frustrated cry, the
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