Damian FINUCANE's Arc

Chapter 9 of 57

The east road began where the temple's fields ended. Damian stood at its mouth with the wrapped sword across his back. Rolo Nash walked beside him, quick and light, the token still in her pocket. But the road split three ways ahead, and Damian did not know which fork led east. A wrong turn could leave them far from water, far from any inn, hungry in open country. He stared at the forks and felt his plan slip. "I can't read this ground," he said. "Take the wrong path and we starve before we ever reach his masters." Rolo grinned. She jumped onto a fence post and balanced there, arms loose, the way she used to walk the circus wires. "You read swords. I read roads." She shaded her eyes and studied the three forks. "The circus crossed this country twice a year. I know these turns." She hopped down and crouched by the middle fork. "See the ruts? Deep and fresh. Heavy wagons pass here." She pointed at the left fork, thin and grassy. "That one goes nowhere. Dead village." Her finger swung to the middle. "This one runs east. There's a well at the first bend. A barn past that where drovers sleep. Then a town by dusk." Damian frowned. "You're sure? If you're wrong, we're stranded." "I'm never wrong about roads." She caught his doubt and softened. "The tricks I kept aren't just flips, Damian. I remember every stop we ever made. Every water barrel. Every locked door." She tapped her temple. "That's why I'm useful." He still hesitated. Then he loosed the raven from his shoulder. "Scout the middle fork. Find water." The bird lifted and beat east along the wagon ruts. They waited. The road was quiet, dust settling in the still air. The raven returned within the hour and dropped low over the middle path, circling once before it settled on a distant post. Damian's chest eased. "Water," he said. "You're right." "Told you." Rolo was already moving. They took the middle fork. The well stood at the first bend, just as she promised, its bucket dry but the water below cold and clean. They drank and filled their skins. By afternoon they reached the barn, empty but roofed, hay piled in the corners. Rolo memorized the layout in a glance and named the next three stops before they walked on. The road was theirs now. Damian no longer feared the country between him and his enemy. But at the barn he had found something else. Pressed into the mud by the door lay an iron token, twin to the one Rolo carried. Fresh boot prints led east from it. Damian picked it up. The mark was the same. Someone had passed here recently, moving the way they moved. He closed his fist around the cold metal. "He's ahead of us," Damian said. "And he knows this road better than we do."