Wheels of Empire: Merchant and Empire Book Nine by Boykin Alma T. C

Author:Boykin, Alma T. C.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-08-02T00:00:00+00:00

Nine days later, Thunk! rang through crisp, clear air as the ax took the first bite of wood. Harald moved to the next tree, marking where he wanted the cut. As he started to bend, he noticed the trunk one tree over shimmering and trembling. Oh no. He marked the tree, then five more. Rella's Dancers wove closer at the edges of his vision. He left the work and returned to where Toglos sat, sharpening another ax. The journeyman looked up, then set aside his work and got to his feet. "Sir?"

"Dancers. I'll be under the wagon." He needed to save the healer's powder for true need. Radmar and Korvaal be praised that they were already going to stay overnight, and that Toglos had come with him.

"Yes, sir."

The journeyman followed him. Sickness swept over him, and he lost breakfast, then everything else. Toglos guided him to the wagon. Harald rolled under it. Toglos slid Harald's blanket roll in beside him for later. He heard the sound of canvas, and voices, and the thunk, thunk, thunk of an ax biting into eich. Each blow rolled through his head, pain rolling with it. The light dimmed as canvas rustled down on one side, hiding him from the strongest of Rella's rays.

Sometime in the day, angry voices rose and fell, then faded. Three trees also fell, perhaps. Oh, he hurt, his guts hated him. Day faded into darkness, blessed lightless darkness. He smelled a campfire's smoke. His gut churned, then subsided. He undid the ties on the blankets and rolled himself in one, keeping away the dew. At last sleep replaced sickness.

He woke at dawn, cold and terribly stiff. Eyes still closed, he moved legs then arms, easing muscles tight and aching. The Wheel had turned. His head ached still, but he could see and think. He stretched more. Someone stoked the fire, and he heard water pouring into metal. He eased out from under the wagon and got to his feet, using the side of the wagon for support.

"Ye look 's if Yoorst's cattle trompled ye afore Korvaal dropped a tree on ye," one of the woodsmen said, voice pitched low and quiet. "No offense."

"None taken, an' I feel as if every great hauler in th' empire kicked me in th' head, jus' fer spite." The man offered a tankard of hot tea. "Thank ye." It tasted of sun-stem and honey, nothing more. He drank slowly, gentling his stomach.

The wood cutter nodded. "Yer journeyman told us. Heard of t' Dancers, never met someone with 'em 'afore."

"Don' recommend 'em, Lady of Light forgive me." The worst spirits of plum hangover was better.

Toglos bounded up, too awake by half. He added more water to the pot, and tossed in more sun-stem to keep up the strength of the tea. "Three trees down and trimmed, sir," he said quietly. "No problems yet, but one of the ones for today looks shifty."

"Dangerous?"

The woodsman wagged his hand left and right. "Not sure. Reminds me of one of the Scavenger-born pouch lifters, ye ken?"

Someone to keep an eye on, not necessarily dangerous.

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