Lane watched as the strange boy fell asleep and eyed him carefully. How could this mere boy know the shadow tongue? How had he communicated with that rachnid? Sal, she thought. A name was close to the common Devold name of Salamin. She shook her head. This boy was definitely not Devold.

  Still, if she had learned anything, it was that outsiders were not to be trusted. They were only marks and cons.

  It wasn’t much further to Parmouth. She could regroup and come back for her brother. Sneaking in had led to disaster. There had to be another way.

  The boy had been injured and was slow. A drag on her making time. And yet, he had saved her life, not once, but twice. She bent her knees up and rocked, trying to decide what to do.

  She had not advanced with the powers, but she could tell the boy was moonpath, a weak shadow of a path. Plus, the goddess was dead. Lane had seen it with her own eyes when her home had burned to the ground.

  Slowly, she crept over to the boy. She winced when she saw his burned right hand. She searched her memory. There was something about a charred hand from her childhood. It didn’t come to her. Her gaze showed that he was hiding something. What was it?

  He was passed out, his head resting awkwardly on a tree root, and he was curled up from the cold. But his pocket was exposed. What was he carrying? There had to be some clue as to who he really was and how he ended up at the Order.

  Her fingers slipped into his pocket, and she felt something smooth and round. It was an easy pick pocket as she scooped it out, and the boy’s breath remained even and unchanged. The change she pocketed.

  She brought the round orb up into the moonlight and gasped. Miniature lightening burst forth within and expanded and circled in ever changing patterns. It held her gaze, and she could feel power expanding within her. Where had he gotten this?

  Her eyes crept back to the sleeping boy. Had he stolen it? She could keep it and run. It would be so easy, and she’d likely get a good coin value for the object. But something about it was so familiar. Perhaps from her childhood? Had it been her mother that had described something like this?

  The boy stirred and Lane froze in place, not daring to take in a breath. He mumbled and soon fell back into the deep rhythmic breathing.

  She touched the orb and looked back at him. He’d die without her, she was sure of it.

  Never trust an outsider. The words of wisdom had been imparted by her father many, many times. Outsiders are marks and cons. They’ll betray you first chance.

  She looked again at his burned hand. Someone had done this to him. Just like her village in the Barrows had been burned. Grimacing, she dropped the orb back in the boy’s pocket. There was a healer in Parmouth. Someone she knew she could trust. Then she’d leave and find another way back into the Order.

  She nestled under the large roots, wrapping her arms around herself. Her teeth chattered, as the temperature dropped. A creature howled deep in the woods. There was no way she was going to sleep, and the boy needed this sleep. She’d keep one eye open and keep both of them alive.

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  ***

  Salamin’s eyes snapped open and saw the light of the sun filtering through the leaves above. He turned his head and saw that Lane had also fallen asleep, tucked under one of the tree roots. The pain in his side burned with the movement.

  The sun had risen, and birds flickered in the trees overhead. The sound of the stream trickling over the rocks soothed him. In the light, he noticed his tunic was covered in blood seeping from his side. It had ached last night, but everything had hurt from his shoulders to his legs.

  This was not the body of a warrior, and it did not move as he wanted to his mind’s commands. That was a deadly combination. Carefully, he pulled his tunic up, and saw the wound was open, now with a green puss.

  He moved over to the stream and cupped his hand first to take a drink and then to pour the icy water over his wound. He grimaced as the water hit it, and bit his tongue, trying to stay silent. He reminded himself, as the water burned, that the rachnid bite was not a high price to pay for his life.

  He heard Lane moving and looked over at her. She stretched, then startled when she saw him. Her eyes focused on his wound. “Sal, what happened?” Lane moved over to see.

  “It’s from a rachnid.”

  Lane frowned. “Their legs hold poison, don’t they?” She peered closely at it. “The redness is spreading.”

  Salamin grimaced. He now saw the line spreading up towards his heart. It would only be a matter of time before it spread throughout his system, paralyzing him.

  “Parmouth isn’t far from here,” she said. “I know someone there we can trust. She might be able to help you.”

  “No, its too dangerous.” Salamin shook his head. He’d already risked too much.

  “You’re going to die without help,” she said. “Aleda is an ally.” Lane looked hopefully at him. “She has no love for Haldar and the Order.”

  Salamin stood up, and the world spun. He rocked over, and Lane caught his arm, balancing him. From his pocket, the orb rolled out into the dirt and down towards the stream.

  Lunging forward, Salamin grasped it in his hands. He couldn’t lose it. There was untapped power there that he didn’t yet understand.

  Lane stood. “Where did you get that?”

  Salamin gazed into the orb’s depths, mesmerized by the motion within. “It’s from the house of Draken.”

  Lane’s eyes tightened. “You stole it?”

  Salamin hesitated, then shook his head. It was partially true. He had taken it back from the Mage, but where the boy Sedwick got it, that remained a mystery. “I don’t know what it is. I’m going to figure it out.”

  Salamin pocketed the orb and winced with pain. “This friend, you’re sure she won’t betray us?”

  Lane raised her hand and inclined her head in an oath. “I trust Aleda with my life.”

  Salamin gazed up at the sky and estimated the time to get to Parmouth. It would be dusk by the time they arrived, and that would be the perfect time to sneak in. If Parmouth was anything like the town of his youth, it was much more dangerous than Lockhorn Forest.

  It was soon apparent that Salamin could no longer walk on his own. Lane propped him up, and it was slow going to the edge of the forest. Already his legs and back felt heavy and ready to give out. He collapsed at the tree line and looked down at the road below. It was Blood Road.

  A large dirt road stretched down to the south, the reddish hued rocks worn down by decades of travel. Blood Road had earned its name from the missing and the dead. Nighttime travel was a death wish.

  The sun was over the horizon, and already there were wagons and horses coming through with goods. Guardians of the road accompanied them and were on the alert for bandits and Core members.

  “I don’t know if we can make it before nightfall,” Salamin said. “You should go without me.”

  Lane frowned. “I’m not leaving you here.” Salamin couldn’t argue as she pulled his arm over his shoulder. “I’m getting you to safety.

  Salamin limped beside her, unable to think of any words. She was risking her life for him.

  Slowly, they made their way down to Blood Road and stopped dead in their tracks when a man’s voice shouted from behind.