I saw it before, on my way to the south dock. A window to a small room whose walls had been damaged during the lecker attack five weeks ago. All the windows in Cagmar fit a uniform mold, but when cut in stone, they aren’t all precise. This one is just large enough for me to slide through. I don’t want to exit via the south dock. First, it’s on the bottom of the city, and the climb would be exhausting. Second, slayers always man the south dock, and I’m trying not to be seen. It’s a risk, I know, but the slayers’ handholds are all over the city and will help give me purchase, even without the security of a rope.
The sun burns a vivid orange, meaning there must be a dust storm a ways off. The breeze picks up the higher I climb. I stay close to the east cliff wall and the shadows, avoiding the slayers’ scouting points. Their eyes always point down, not up.
But when I reach the lip of the canyon, my limbs shaking from the effort, I know instantly that my mission has failed.
Unach wasn’t kidding when she said the scouts had been increased. The area beside the canyon is dry and flat, so it’s not hard to see the scouts stationed near and far, some only pricks of dark on the horizon. I can’t fathom how to sneak by them, even if I were to wait for the cover of night, at which point Tayler would likely have given up on me. Then again, it won’t be possible for Tayler to slip by, either. I doubt he would even try. And with the scouts roaming for a week now, he and any of his traveling party could be long gone.
I prop my elbows on the lip of the canyon and consider my options. The scouts, the time of day, a way to get a message . . . but no, none of those will work. And while I want to know more about Tayler, his township, and Baten, it isn’t worth giving up all I have to sate my curiosity. I wouldn’t know where to send a message, besides.
A memory niggles in the back of my mind. I try to grasp it, but it’s made of dried leaves and sand and slips through my fingers. But staring into the great expanse of the canyon, I manage to grasp it at the last second.
We’ll have to clear out the crag snakes.
I blink, backpedaling in my thoughts to Unach’s lesson on monsters shortly after my arrival. Crag snakes live in the north, near the mountains. They only travel down toward Cagmar when prey is scarce.
“Crag snakes,” I whisper. Which means I do know where Tayler’s township is . . . or at least, the general area. I bite the inside of my lip. Someday I’ll see Tayler again, and I’ll learn more of Baten’s story. I hope they can survive this never-ending drought, for the seeds Ritha gave me, and those I’ve collected from the canyon flora, will not make it into Tayler’s hands. Not today.
After easing under the lip of the canyon, I allow myself a couple of minutes to rest and stretch my muscles before climbing back down the city. My shoulders feel rusted by the time I slip back inside, careful to ensure that I’m unseen, and my thighs shake with every step I take. I walk slowly to regain my strength, brushing against stone and metal walls to stay out of the way of trollis. I’m only just arriving at the Mid-divide when one of them blocks my path. I hug the wall closer, but he doesn’t step around me. Confused, I lift my gaze.
My insides turn to water as I meet Grodd’s sneering face.
“I saw you, little bird,” he growls, and his meaty hand whips out, fingers enclosing my arm. He drags me down the corridor. I dig in my heels and try to twist free, but Grodd’s grip won’t relent. I fear he has more strength in his hand than I have in my entire body.
Horror melts through me as he yanks me across the market, drawing the attention of dozens of bystanders, toward the council’s room. I saw you, he said. Not at the window in Deccor housing; he came from the other way. Then I realize he’s wearing the garb of a scout.
He was on the surface, patrolling. He saw me pop up, must have watched me descend, then rushed through the city to intercept me.
I want to scream at him, to defend myself, to bite his hand, but that will see me punished. I cannot act out against anyone of higher caste than myself, which includes every trollis in Cagmar. I am utterly at Grodd’s mercy.
Surely the council will see reason. Qequan is a brute, but he’s reasonable. I merely have to wait.
I hold my breath when we reach the council’s doors. Try to invite calm into my veins. The guards look confused when Grodd demands entrance.
“I’ve got an escapee,” he says with an authority he no longer really has. “The council will want to know about this one.”
The guards exchange looks, then whisper to one another. One surveys me and nods. He must recognize me. Were I any other human, they may have made Grodd wait. But they know Qequan has taken interest in me before. They know what I did during the last caste tournament. And so they open the doors to the long foyer and signal to the next set of guards to let Grodd through. When he finally jerks me into the council room and throws me onto the great fur carpet, my bruised arm starts to swell.