“You’re supposed to be watching the goat,” Kaitha said.
“The goat and I have an understanding.” Gorm cast a murderous glance at the malformed creature. Its yellow eyes stared in opposite directions with strange, coin-slot pupils, yet Gorm had the sense that the ill-tempered beast was constantly watching him. The horns sprouting from its head were twisted and asymmetrical, as was its gnarled, lumpy body. Its upper and lower jaw never seemed to point in the same direction, and they scissored back and forth as the goat considered the rope that tethered it to a spot beneath Gorm’s boot.
“You have an understanding with a goat.” Kaitha laid the statement out without comment, as though hoping it would collapse under the weight of its own absurdity.
“Aye. It doesn’t chew the leash, and I don’t straighten out his face.”
The goat bleated defiantly, but it took a step away from the rope.
Kaitha shrugged. “That doesn’t explain why you’re reading Al’Matran prophecies again.”
Gorm shifted, finding a different part of the mossy boulder to lean against. “I dunno. Some of the stuff happenin’ reminded me of Niln’s books.”
“Niln prophesied about olive markets?” The ranger smirked.
“No. Well, sort of. Several Al’Matran prophets wrote a lot about olives, and Niln wrote a treatise on their works. But that ain’t why I’m reading. And then some of the prophets wrote about someone striking down a king, and old Handor is only just cold in the grave.”
“Kings die all the time,” said Kaitha. “Especially Human kings. I’ve seen at least a dozen come and go.”
“Fair enough. I can’t point to anythin’ and say it’s definitely happenin’ or not. The All Mother’s scriptures are as clear as bog muck.” He thumped a finger on the open page. “Like here. Ye read it one way, and the prophet Asepth makes it sound like the Seventh Hero dies when he meets the Dark Prince. Ye read it another, and it sounds like it’s actually the Dark Prince who bites it. Ye flip forward to the end of the chapter, and they’re both alive and kickin’. So what actually happens when the two meet?”
“They’re probably not going to meet, right?” said Kaitha. “Because one of them is made of stone and the other is wishful thinking by Al’Matran scribes. It’s all nonsense, remember? For every halfway decent prophet in that temple, there’s at least ten more who couldn’t predict what’s for dinner if they held a menu. And no disrespect to Niln, but he was wrong about… well…”
“Almost everythin’,” Gorm finished for her. “Aye, I know. But it ain’t the odds, it’s the stakes. If Niln’s work is true, somebody could be tryin’ to bring back the Sten, or worse, they could summon Al’Thadan. And Mannon’s greatest ally gets called back with his eyes on Andarun. It could be the end of the—”
“Wagon!” hissed Kaitha, pointing at a cart similar to the one they’d seen in the Riverdowns rolling up the road.
“Right.” Gorm closed the book. “Gaist in place?”
“He’s good at standing still.” The Elf pulled up the hood of the long, ratty cloak she wore, concealing her fine armor entirely. “Wait for it.”
The old cart rumbled up the road at a lazy pace. When it had nearly reached the rock that Gorm and Kaitha were hunkered behind, the ranger signaled the Dwarf.
Gorm lifted his foot, releasing the rope. The goat immediately bolted across the road, with Kaitha hot on its hooves. The wagon driver jerked the reins and swore, but the Elf had left him plenty of room to maneuver between the goat and the apparent shepherd chasing it across the road. The wobbling wagon rolled on its way with a few extra curses.
“Clear,” Kaitha shouted over her shoulder as she jogged to where the goat had paused. The goat, for its part, was so distracted by the carrot it was munching that it didn’t even object when Kaitha picked up its leash again.
“Ye sure?” Gorm called doubtfully.
“Trust me,” Kaitha hollered. She snapped her fingers to get the goat’s attention and, once she was reasonably certain that it was looking in her general direction, pulled another carrot from her belt pouch. The goat tried to lunge for the vegetable, but she kept its leash short as she placed the carrot in the same cranny as the one before it. Then she began the laborious process of hauling the struggling animal back across the road.
Gorm met her halfway and grabbed the goat by the horn. “I ain’t sure this is gonna help us find the wagon.”
The goat planted its feet stubbornly, but the only effect was to carve shallow grooves in the road as the heroes dragged it back to the rock.
“The shipments have to come through here,” said Kaitha. “They don’t head toward the city or they’d pass through Eastgate, nor do they go to Aberreth. If they’re using the roads, they have to head this way. And the goat is the key to finding them.”
“The goat’s the part I ain’t sure about,” said Gorm, repositioning himself behind the rock.
“Well, here’s another chance to watch and learn,” Kaitha said with a smirk. She pointed to another wagon rolling toward them. It traveled at a snail’s pace and was taking a small eternity to approach.
When the wagon was finally in position, Kaitha gave the signal once more. The goat bolted back toward the carrot, the Elf played the errant farmer once more, and both ran across the road. But this time, the wagoner didn’t take the ample opportunity to maneuver. Instead, he hauled back on the reins with all the desperation of a man trying to avoid going over a cliff. The horses whinnied in protest and skidded to a quick stop. The wagoner sat with his head tucked down between his shoulders, as if trying to retreat into his own chest cavity. He stayed in that pose, holding his breath, for several moments after Kaitha had crossed the street.
On Gorm’s signal, Gaist took the opportunity to sneak around the back of the wagon. He carefully slit the canvas near the back, just large enough to peek inside. Satisfied, the weaponsmaster backed away and nodded to his companion before disappearing back into the shadows.
The wagoner didn’t move on until the Elf waved to him and demonstrated that the goat’s rope was clearly in hand. Only then did the cart roll onward, leaving a cloud of dust and muttered curses in its wake.
The ranger was all smiles as she sauntered back across the road. “Now there’s a man who knows he’s hauling explosives.”
Gaist was beside them suddenly, nodding as he watched the retreating cart.
“Aye,” said Gorm. “That’s our wagon.”
The goat, finished with its carrot, bleated once and sprinted away. It carved a crooked path across the grass field, its legs flying akimbo in chaotic patterns as it ran, so that it looked like it was floating on top of a melee toward the nearest cabbage patch.
“Speaking of unleashing horrors upon the world,” Gorm muttered.
“Finding our mark is worth the deposit on a rented goat.” Kaitha nodded toward the retreating wagon. “Let’s see where this leads.”
Chapter 11
“It’s something to do with the dragon,” said Feista Hrurk. She studied the grid of numbers spread over the sheet of parchment. The figures stared back at her, as plain as the fur on her snout and as inscrutable as a whisper on the wind. Something in the numbers made her uneasy, but it was hiding behind the bars of the grid. “It’s strange… just off somehow.”
A few of the Wood Gnomes lounging about her desk sat up straighter. White Rat stood and launched into an impassioned, if inaudible, diatribe of squeaks.
“No, no, I’m not saying the math is wrong,” said Feista with a wave of her paw. “I’m saying… something else is. The companies must have reported bad data or… or the market could… well, it must be bad data.”
She sat back in her chair and steepled her claws. The Analysis Department office was as still and dim as a tomb, but she had grown accustomed to the quiet solitude. If she was honest, it was a nice change after spending years wrangling pups and tenants in sixteen-hour shifts. She let her mind return to the numbers; she had caught a rotten scent, and she wasn’t going to let go until she had tracked down the problem.
