“I don’t think so,” Marguerite said. Shane blinked at her, trying to remember what question she was answering. “They should have a head start, but I suspect they took a different route. Although the boatman’s strike may well have trapped them as effectively as it did us.”
“Ah. Yes.”
“Regardless, Cambraith is a large county and Magnus knows people are looking for her, so they may not have the easiest time searching. Highlanders are notoriously suspicious of strangers asking questions.”
“Of course.”
She smiled at him, reached up, and tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear. He had taken direct blows to the head that staggered him less. “And if we get there too late…well, we’ll figure out the next step once we get there.”
“Yes. The next step. Certainly.” His skin blazed where her fingers had brushed it. He half-expected the touch to have left blisters. Sir Afrim. Sparrows. Fourteen days and nights.
If any of the sparrows had been agonizingly attractive, the chroniclers had left those bits out.
“Are you all right?” Marguerite asked.
“Sparrows aren’t attractive.”
“Sorry, what?” She frowned up at him. “I think I misheard you.”
“Fine,” said Shane. “I’m fine.”
LATE AFTERNOON of the third day. They’d gotten a wagon ride most of the way to the next village, rattling along between barrels that smelled strongly of salted fish. The trader had pointed over a rise and told them that if they crossed there, they’d cut a good half-hour off their time. Shane thanked her and she winked cheerfully at him before continuing on her way.
“Right,” said Davith, as soon as the wagon was out of sight. “Find me a rock or avert your eyes, friends.”
“The town’s supposed to be right over there.”
“Good for it. That wagon hit every single rock on the road and while I may have the stamina of a twenty-year-old, my bladder is significantly older.”
“There’s a very large rock over there,” said Wren, pointing.
“So there is. Won’t be a moment.”
Shane sighed and set out alongside him. Davith slid a wary glance at the paladin. “Do you need the rock too, or are you worried I’ll try to escape?”
“Both things can be true.”
“Fair enough.”
They were halfway back from the rock when Davith stepped into a hole, let out a squawk, and fell forward.
“Davith!” Shane grabbed for him, alarmed. He’d seen men break legs after stepping in concealed gopher holes, and while he had no particular fondness for the man, that wasn’t something he’d wish on anyone. Also, Shane would probably have to carry him.
“Gah! Ah!” Davith levered himself upright. “Shit!”
“Is it broken?”
“No, it’s stuck— Ahhhh!”
“You’re stuck?”
“Something just bit me!” Davith sounded more outraged than hurt.
“Bit you?” Shane glanced up and saw the distant figures of Marguerite and Wren hurrying toward them. “Here, let me look. Maybe you’re trapped under a root.”
“It is not a root, you armored jackass! I know the difference between a root and being bitten!
Something is gnawing on my— gah! Ah! Get it off!”
Shane dropped to his knees, wondering what the hell could be biting from inside a narrow hole like that. A rabbit? A gopher? Saint’s teeth, let it not be a badger…
He shoved Davith’s cloak aside, looked down into the hole, stopped and stared.
It was not a badger. Actually, it wasn’t any animal that Shane recognized. He wasn’t even sure it was alive.
The hole was about twice the size of Davith’s calf. A line of irregular pointed rocks the size of Shane’s thumb ringed the top, set into slick brown earth. As Shane watched, the sides of the hole seemed to flex and it closed a little tighter, the rocks digging into Davith’s boot. Deep gouges were already forming in the leather. Davith yelped as it tightened.
“Is it some kind of trap?” he panted.
“It’s…uh…something.” Shane drew his sword, not quite sure what to do next. They certainly looked like teeth, but what was he going to do, stab the ground?
He prodded the inside of the hole with the broken blade. The rocks that formed the teeth scraped along the metal. They were definitely rocks, too. He could see a thin thread of quartz sparkling through one, and though they were all sharp, it was the jagged sharpness of broken stone.
For lack of anything better to do, Shane did indeed try stabbing the hole next to Davith’s boot.
Clods of earth broke off and tumbled down into the dark. The stone teeth clenched again, tighter, and Davith’s yelp turned into a hoarse yell.
“What the hell?” said Wren, dropping to her knees in time to see the hole bite down.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Shane admitted.
“That is really not what I— gahh! —want to hear right now.”
“If it’s a trap, can you lever it open?” Marguerite asked.
Shane and Wren exchanged helpless looks. It was as good an idea as any. Shane pulled the heavy scabbard off his back. “This may hurt,” he warned.
“That’ll be a nice change from the general agon—AHHH!” Shane thrust the scabbard down, along the side of Davith’s leg. Stone teeth ground against it. He pushed against the scabbard, trying to pry the hole apart, wondering if that was as bizarre as it sounded inside his head.
Astonishingly, it seemed to work a little. The earth walls flexed again, but didn’t close any tighter.
Wren reached down past him and struck at a tooth with the handle of her axe. She hit it twice and it broke free from the earth holding it. Not gums. Don’t think of it like gums.
Wren started on another tooth and Shane stopped her. “Grab him,” he said. “Get ready to pull. I’ll see if I can get it to open a little farther.”
“Right.” She scrambled aside, hooked her hands under Davith’s armpits, and set her feet.
“Ready.”
“Are you— gah—sure this is a good—”
Shane slammed his full weight against the scabbard and prayed that the hardened leather would hold. “Now!”
Wren pulled. Davith shrieked. Shane’s feet slid as he tried to find something to brace against.
There was a loud crack! and Davith came free. Wren fell over backwards, still clutching him.
Shane felt the scabbard twist as the hole snapped shut around it.
“Please tell me that wasn’t your leg,” said Marguerite, in the panting silence that followed.
“I don’t know,” said Davith. “It might have been.”
“Get off me,” growled Wren.
“I can’t. I think my leg came off.”
“It wasn’t your leg,” Shane said. The scabbard had split in half, the stone teeth buried in it. It stuck up from the ground at an absurd angle. Anyone stumbling over it would think that someone had tried to bury a sword in the ground and given up halfway through. He glanced over at Davith, who was missing his right boot. Dark red marks were already forming a ring halfway up the shin.