The Silver Sphere (18 page)

Throg jumped forward a step. "The Kin are on the Dorado...
in battle? With Nightlanders?"

"Yes, they are. The Zumbaki, of all beings, joined Biskara.
They also brought back those dreadful Disembowelers."

"Zumbaki and the Disembowelers?" Throg gasped.

"What are they?" Zach tensed at his companion's unease.

"The Zumbaki are a savage tribe—cannibals," Throg said.
"They believe they gain strength by eating their enemies, and most of the time
they are too wild to have any allies. The Disembowelers are terrible beasts. The
Nightlanders trained them in past wars, but they were thought to be extinct. Malefic
must have bred them and kept them in hiding."

"Well, they're making a mess out of the forest," said
Drake. "I don't like how the Disembowelers are hurting some of the horses in
the battle. These Nightlanders never respect the woods and its animals as you do,
Throg. So, I'm happy to assist."

"Thank you, Drake. How far up the Dorado is this happening?"

"Maybe a couple of hours northeast from the river here,
a little less perhaps. I always forget how slow mortals travel. I spied the wishpoosh
pillaging your belongings. Their behavior has been unusual. I warded them off and
managed to grab a few of your things, some weapons and such I thought you might
need. The bag is up ahead behind the third tree to the right." Drake motioned
forward.

"Thank you. I will do my best to preserve your forest. You
have my word," Throg said.

The Leshy nodded. "Nightlanders captured two of the Kin,
and took them to a small camp near the battle. The leader of the Stonecoats is attempting
to rescue them on his own."

"Milo? I'm glad the Stonecoats are with the rest of the
Kin.
We
are too far to help them, but...
you
can get to the battle
quickly." Throg looked at him.

"You understand my kind doesn't like to get involved, but
you have done much for me in the past. I will go to assist the two Kin to return
your kindness."

Throg smiled, his eyes crinkling, and then Drake disappeared
into the woods.

"The Leshy are shape-shifters. They can shrink to the size
of a small rock or plant. On a rare day, you might view them in their natural state.
They can be formidable allies... if they like you. They can also be a royal pain
in the arse if they don't—double for the younger Leshy, the mischievous critters.
I befriended Drake some time ago.

"If what he says is true, then we're near your fellow Kin
and close to battle. The Disembowelers are rabid and dangerous. We'll need shields
if we encounter them. The Zumbaki are more threatening when they travel in packs."

The two of them jogged along the path Drake had pointed out to
them. Throg stopped at the third tree and found his knapsack, a canteen of water,
and several knives. A chipped sword leaned against the bag. Throg lifted the blade
once he pulled the pack on.

"We need to move without delay. We will run into the Dorado
Path in a short time. Stay close to me, and remember, if anything happens to me,
the Dorado Path leads straight to Meracuse."

He glared back at Zach, and the Kin saw determination in Throg's
eyes.

They accelerated their pace, and a surge of adrenaline rushed
through Zach. A war, other Kin, and to top it off, blue men with green hair, seemed
to be the norm around here. He wondered what Adrian would think of all of this.

Crisp morning air made Morgana's heart swell. She smiled as she
tied her light chestnut hair back. A soft whine came from the floor and she looked
down. Otis, her Meridian Sheppard, barked and lolled his tongue. He gazed with big,
brown eyes, begging attention.

"Just a minute, Otis," she said, rubbing his side with
her bare foot.

She sluiced cold water over her face and neck. The dry air promised
a hot day. As she left her bedroom, she overheard her father speaking in hushed
tones with another villager right outside the door.

"I got wind of rumors Malefic's soldiers are moving west
now," said the old man. Borgen was a priest and a healer. Last summer, he'd
bound Morgana's sprained ankle. Borgen's healing went unsurpassed in Chapton. "That
merchant from Vixen said so."

"West?" her father murmured. "Well, good, I suppose.
He'll pass near us, but I think we should be safe."

Morgana rapped on the open window. "Father, did you want
breakfast?"

"I broke my fast early today, dear. Why don't you have a
bite before you go to the temple?"

"I'm planning to do some chores, first," she said.
"Not that hungry yet."

At her heels, Otis whined and wagged his tail.

"Borgen, how soon do you need Morgana?"

"She can take her time. Been a slow morning." Borgen
smiled at her.

"Thank you, Borgen," she said, returning his smile.
"I'll be along in about an hour. I just have a few things to do around the
house before breakfast."

"Good, good. I'll see you then. Take care, El." Borgen
clapped Morgana's father on the shoulder, his frail fingers looking bony and weak.
He walked with not so much of a limp as a wobble. Morgana feared at times that a
hale wind would knock him clean over.

"Morgana," her father said after Borgen had gone, "if
you're doing some chores, don't forget to tidy up the hutch in the back. You know
how the rabbits get this time of year."

"Sure. Otis, to me."

She really hadn't needed to say anything. Otis followed eagerly
as she took some stew from the gigantic cauldron over the fire pit, and spooned
the meat into a large bowl. He nuzzled past her and began to eat, licking his chops
as he downed the cold beef.

Morgana patted him, then slipped her shoes on and hurried out
back to tend to the rabbits. She paused at the feel of something in her father's
coat pocket. She reached in and pulled out a weapon.

"Father?" She approached him with the gun. "What
are you doing with this?"

Her father snatched it from her. "It's a hand-cannon."

"They're banned!"

"No, they're not. Blasters are illegal. Hand-cannons aren't.
Not anymore. Now, go take care of the rabbits. I'll handle this."

Morgana shifted from one foot to the other and bit her lip. In
the end, she had no choice, and hurried around back. The hay needed cleaning and
their water replacing.

She eased the three rabbits into a small wooden crate and covered
the top with chicken wire. "Don't fret. Just a little bit."

She pulled out the dirty hay, tossing a bushel into the yard
for the chickens to pick over. A few hens clucked and fluttered aside as she bustled
back and forth between a bale of fresh straw and the rabbit hutch. Once she'd laid
the new straw, she pulled out the bowls and cleaned them, refilling one with cold
water from the rain barrel, and the other with chopped carrots and lettuce.

"There we go." She set a white rabbit back in with
the others and latched the chicken wire door. "All neat and fresh."

She hurried inside. "What else needs
straightening, Father?"

Elund shook his head, his pitchfork in hand. "The cattle
are already to pasture, and there's no sweeping to do. You could go and fetch water
for Borgen. I imagine he'll want some at the temple to wash the paintings. But you
should eat soon. Getting late."

Cleaning the hutch hadn't taken too long, though Morgana's gut
growled at the thought of food. "I'll take a biscuit with me to the well. Is
that all right?"

"Sure. Stop by the temple first, and find out if anyone
wants breakfast."

"Okay. Otis, come." She patted the meat of her thigh.

The dog, lying beside the empty fire pit, wagged his tail, jumped
to his feet, and hurried after her.

She took a biscuit from the tray on the counter and was halfway
out the door when her father called, "Just a moment, Morgana."

"Yes?"

"Don't forget your knife. That rope gets stuck too often."
He handed her the short blade. "I can't tell you how many times Ms. Lantern's
had me replace it!"

"Thanks, Father." She tucked the knife into her work
belt.

He pulled her into a tight hug. "Have a good day."

She wrapped her arms around her father and smiled. "I love
you, Father."

"Love you, too."

Morgana flashed a grin and hurried outdoors, Otis trotting along
behind her. She wolfed down her biscuit in a few bites. Taking a pail from outside
of the house, she began a brisk walk to the temple, just down the street from where
she lived.

Most of the humble building had been
covered in canvas sheets to keep the dirt out. A few women talked outside as they
refurbished a painting under the warm forenoon sun.

"Good morning, Morgana," said one with a kind smile.
Her cheeks crinkled.

"Morning, ma'am," Morgana clucked with a curtsy. The
sound of hammers and saws reverberated from within the temple. "They're already
to work?"

"Oh, my, yes. They started early this sunrise. Why, Kal
was up before the sun!"

"My father sent me to check if anyone wanted some breakfast.
I was headed to the well and can stop by the baker's on the way back."

The woman stood and hurried inside to ask. The others working
on different paintings chatted amiably with Morgana while she waited. Only a moment
later, the elderly lady returned.

"Kal said they're fine for now, but they could use your
help when you get back. The new wall's giving them a hard time, bless the Father."

"Didn't they paint yesterday?"

"Oh, my, yes. Took almost the entire day, too! But they
want a mural done, and you're the only one with an artist's hand, Morgana."

A hot flush rose into her cheeks. "That's kind of you. I'll
start when I return."

The old woman knelt again beside the image, and dipped her brush
back into the bowl of red paint. Morgana's mother had painted many of the others
inside. The walls showed somber-faced saints and glorious, smiling gods. The years
had dulled their colors and cracked the clay floors.

When Borgen had suggested restoring the temple to her father,
he'd readily agreed. The whole town had gone in on the project. Rather than pay
workers, though, everyone took turns volunteering. The women painted and cleaned
while the men repaired the floors, ceiling, and walls. Near the back, they were
building a nursery.

Morgana turned to Otis. "Wanna race to the well?"

He barked and hopped.

"Good! Ready?" She stood in place, leaning forth, and
Otis crouched. "Set...."

Otis nearly jumped forward, but she laughed and
tisk
ed
him.

"Wait a minute. No cheating!"

Otis's long tail flapped excitedly.

"Go!" Morgana took off at a run.

Otis easily outdistanced her. Her heart slammed against her ribs
as she darted forward. Chapton harbored a fair sized village, with the well stationed
at the other end, past the main square and the gurgling fountain. Chapton's outskirts
contained mainly farmhouses. Cattle and sheep dotted the green fields beyond the
main square.

"Good morning, Morgana," called Ms. Lantern as Morgana
and Otis sprinted by. Old Ms. Lantern had her knees in the dirt as she tended the
garden.

"Good morning!" Morgana's chest heaved.

Racing Otis took a lot out of her. By the time they reached the
well, her lungs ached. She laughed and knelt to ruffle the dog's ears. "Good
boy!"

Otis licked her cheek, then sniffed around the well, his nose
to the ground.

Morgana lifted the pail and set it on the wall of the well, then
lowered the bucket attached to the rope, and hummed. A few moments later, the bucket
plopped into the water below, and she let it fill before hoisting it up.

After she'd poured the fresh water into the container, she asked,
"Are you ready to head back?"

Otis froze, his pointed ears perking.

A chill wind came on, and Morgana tucked a stray strand of mousey
hair behind her ear.