Rain misted down from the heavens and soaked into Spencer’s clothes and ran down his face. His brown hair was pasted to his skull by the moisture and his trousers and shirt clung to his skin uncomfortably. Redhawk’s hooves came down onto the now muddy road with a plop! noise, splattering muck up onto Spencer’s legs.
Thunder rolled in the distance and Spencer’s gaze flicked to the sky, which lit up suddenly with a blaze of light. Lightning crackled between the clouds. Quickly, Spencer maneuvered Redhawk around in a three-quarters circle and urged him into a gallop back to the stable, which he had wandered surprisingly far from. Another peal of thunder rumbled in the sky as horse and rider flew across the land, closing the gap between themselves and the protection of the farm buildings. It had just started to pour rain when Redhawk skidded to a halt in the stables, his hooves clattering against the stone floor loudly. Spencer swung off the creature’s back and shook himself free of some of the moisture which had accumulated in his hair and clothing.
After he had wrung most of the water from his outfit, he removed Redhawk’s saddle and bridle and placed them on their respective pegs in the tack room after securing his mount in the crossties. He came back from the tack room with a towel slung over his shoulder and a paddle-like tool which had a rubbery consistency in his hand. Gently, he pressed the hand-sized paddle tool against one of Redhawk’s wet legs and drew it down towards the horse’s hooves, effectively removing most of the moisture from that portion of his leg. And so he made his way up to the beast’s croup and finally to its withers and neck, removing as much water from Redhawk’s course hair as was possible.
When he had fully dried his horse off, Spencer released him from the crossties and led him into his hay-laden stall. With a final stroke on Redhawk’s soft nose, he exited the stables and made his way down the path to the courtyard quickly, then broke into a run when he reached the stones of the yard.
Spencer reached his room and found Zeth already curled up in his bed, a book in hand and a tangerine on the nightstand beside him. His dark-haired friend looked up when the door banged open and his eyebrows flew south when he saw how wet Spencer was.
“It usually is wise to at least wear a hat and a cloak when going out in the rain,” Zeth said after a long moment of staring, an amused smile playing on his lips. “Or have you suddenly decided that public bathing is quite acceptable?”
Spencer shot a dark glance at his friend before shuffling over to his chest of clothes and pulling out a nightshirt and a pair of dry woolen trousers. He struggled out of his sopping outfit and threw them across the room into a basket used to collect their dirty clothes, then, with a content sigh, he slipped into the dry, clean sleepwear. Conscious of the fact that Zeth was still grinning at his own joke, Spencer drew out a comb from a drawer in his nightstand, running it through his hair, then decided to get his little friend’s mind on a different track.
“So, was Brand happy with the fishing gear you bought with him?” The comb caught in a vicious little snarl and Spencer ripped through the knot with a grimace. Perhaps he should cut his hair soon.
Zeth turned the page of his book and nodded, eyes glued to the words before him. “Mmhmm,” he said absently.
Spencer sighed. There was no communicating with Zeth when he had that pointed nose of his in a thrilling book. “What’s that book about?”
Zeth glanced up for a moment before turning to the next page. “It’s called ‘The Abandoning of the Earth.’ This philosopher, Telglieshan, wrote it and he claims that if the king of hell is not killed by the end of the century, the gods will abandon man to their own darkness and create a new world where their new creations will dwell only in the light of an ever-present sun and there will be no night. Of course it’s all hogwash, but it’s very interesting hogwash.”
Spencer’s eyebrows lowered and he replaced the comb in his nightstand drawer. “How can men kill the king of hell? He’s immortal. Plus he can’t be killed by a sword.”
“Like I said…it’s hogwash.” Zeth took a section of the tangerine and tossed it into his mouth. “Oh, and did I mention that Brand and I saw two Aja’bin?”
Spencer spun around on his bed, his mouth hanging open in surprise.
Zeth sighed peevishly. “Must you let your mouth hang open like that? You look like a trout that’s just been landed.”
Spencer waved his hand, dismissing Zeth’s pointed remark. “Stop telling me which animal I look like and tell me about the slavers!”
Zeth placed a ribbon marker in his book and shut it. “Well, Brand and I were just walking back from the fishing stall and we saw two men – rather lean men – wearing green robes with gold, braided belts. They were completely bald and they must wear some kind of oil on their scalps which makes them gleam like a fine lady’s set of diamonds. One of them had a white rat in a pouch at his hip. Naturally I followed them and – ”
“You followed them?” Spencer stared at his friend, incredulous.
“You have the trout look again,” Zeth commented dryly.
Spencer crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. “I don’t care if I look like a perch!”
“Trout,” Zeth corrected. “Now will you stop calling yourself the wrong type of fish so that I can finish the story?”
Spencer blushed furiously, but nodded anyway. He really did want to hear what happened next.
Zeth placed his book on the nightstand and ate another tangerine section before continuing. “So, I followed them to the inn where they’re staying – The Golden Wheat Inn – and I ate at a table near them with a few of Rindor’s other helpers.” Zeth leaned in towards Spencer and he said in a dramatic whisper, “They’re here to find gladiators to fight in the Drethnia competitions.”
Spencer sucked in his breath quickly, excited and terrified at the same moment. “You mean…they’re going to capture men? Why aren’t the authorities doing anything about this?”
Zeth motioned for Spencer to lower his voice. He was a cautious thief. “If you were the authorities, would you raise a finger against a group of hell’s servants?”
Spencer sighed and shook his head slowly. “I suppose not.”
“I didn’t think so. Unless you had some of your own tricks up your sleeve, it would be a rather predictable fight…and one with a rather ugly ending.”
“But we can’t just allow them to get away with buying and selling innocent people!” Spencer argued emphatically.
“We?” It was Zeth’s turn to look surprised. He shook his head and chuckled softly. “Oh, Spence. Don’t let just anger cloud your judgment. What do you plan to do? Capture the Aja’bin in potato sacks?”
Spencer sighed and fiddled with a loose thread on his quilted blanket. “No…but…someone has to do something?”
“Well, good luck in finding someone who could stand up to a demon without quailing like a bird before a tomcat,” Zeth said, retrieving his book and opening it to the marked page. “And even if you do find some fool who isn’t afraid of supernatural beings, who’s to say they would be able to slay the filthy creature and the slaver who controls it? Perhaps if you called down Hevandor or Lithia you could have them chase the Aja’bin into the sea.”
Spencer snorted derisively. “Like the gods would answer to the pleas of a farm boy.”
Zeth shrugged. “Well, anything short of calling down a deity will result in a pathetic fight.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Spencer murmured as he crawled beneath his blankets and rested his head on his goose-feather-filled pillow.
“Sweet dreams, trout.”
Spencer could hear the grin behind Zeth’s words. He grabbed his extra pillow and hurled it across the room in Zeth’s general direction.