CHAPTER EIGHT

Hindsight’s perception sharpens through the years

Especially when conscious of regret

A mind in turmoil wishes for reprieve

For what it cannot manage to forget

When wrongs well-meant cause suffering immense

A debt is owed to pay in recompense

—THE BOOK OF UNVEILING

“Your lack of curiosity is astounding, Farron.” Darvyn shifted to the side to dislodge a stone that was poking into his abdomen as he lay between Zango and Farron, behind a cluster of coarse shrubbery.

The late-afternoon sun beat down on their backs. Every now and then, Darvyn would sing a cooling breeze to bring some relief, but he needed to conserve as much of his Song as possible for a confrontation with the nabbers.

Two other groups of Keepers were similarly positioned several hundred paces around the run-down building into which the nabbers from the night before had disappeared. Zango currently held the binoculars, watching the single door to the structure. The warehouse had no windows, just a series of round ventilation holes near the roofline. The mud bricks were crumbling, and the roof appeared on the verge of caving in at several places.

They had been watching the property all day, since the nabbers staggered back to it after waking in the early morning hours. The five from town had joined three more who Darvyn could sense inside. He also felt over three dozen children within. Most were healthy but two had been badly beaten. Darvyn had healed the children’s fractured bones when he’d first arrived but left the more superficial wounds so the nabbers would not become suspicious.

It pained him to allow the children to suffer at all, but Aggar would not let them move into action yet, insisting on more surveillance. Darvyn felt they’d seen more than enough. Nothing had changed for hours. The Keepers numbered nine to the nabbers’ eight, and with four Earthsingers, the odds were good. But of course, Aggar would not listen to reason, and so Darvyn had been distracting himself with thoughts of the night before.

“You have no idea where she came from or what she was doing in Five?” Darvyn asked Farron, incredulous. At least the teen had gotten the woman’s name—Kyara. A shame he’d learned little else about her.

“She’d just been beaten. I didn’t want to assault her with questions as well.”

Darvyn tore his gaze away from the building to glance at Farron. “And yet you let her just leave and disappear into the night?”

“She said she was fine, and she was walking all right. If you were so interested in her, why didn’t you go talk to her?” Farron raised his brows.

Zango snorted, his big body shaking in silent laughter. Darvyn elbowed his friend in the ribs.

The night before, Darvyn had rushed out of the pub to find a Golden Flame beating the woman who’d captured his attention. Instinctively, he’d sang a cloak of darkness over the area. It was a simple but effective spell. The windstorm that had blown the soldiers off their feet had been satisfying. Perhaps he’d taken it too far, blowing them all the way down the street and out of the town entirely, but it had been worth it. He’d let Farron go after her so Darvyn could keep his anonymity, but now he regretted it.

“If the elders hear about you using Earthsong on a group of Golden Flames they’ll be livid,” Zango muttered.

“I won’t tell them if you won’t,” he said with a wink. Zango shook his head.

It had been quite a while since any Midcountry girl had caught his eye. Usually those who avoided being called into service and stayed in their villages were married off as soon as their meager dowries could be scraped together. In Sayya and the Lake Cities, where better weather, soil, and more abundant food made life a bit easier, he could generally find a girl to regale with tales of fighting in the Seventh Breach or impress with tidbits about his time with the hated Elsirans. Somehow he doubted this Kyara would be awed by his stories. What would it take to dazzle her?

A nudge from Zango brought him back to the present. His friend passed the binoculars to him and pointed north. Darvyn brought the landscape into focus and spotted a cloaked, hooded figure on horseback approaching the warehouse.

Another nabber joining his companions?

Darvyn stretched his senses forward but could not read anything about the rider. Male or female, young or old, friend or foe—nothing was coming through his Song. They must be a Singer, and one with a particularly powerful shield if Darvyn couldn’t sense anything.

“I don’t think that’s a nabber,” he said. It was impossible to conceive of a nabber who’d avoided tribute. Plus, he couldn’t fathom an Earthsinger being able to withstand the suffering nabbers brought upon the children.

“Who is it, then?” Zango asked.

“I don’t know.” Darvyn pulled the binoculars from his face to wipe away the sweat dripping into his eyes.

“What does he want?”

Darvyn shook his head. He raised the glasses again and peered through. The rider was nearly to the warehouse. Darvyn scanned the brush for the other Keepers. Another pair of binoculars peered his way—Aggar. Darvyn gave a hand signal indicating what he’d told Zango, that he knew nothing about this newcomer.

The rider alighted the horse and approached the entrance. Though he was too far away to hear, Darvyn imagined the rattle of the tin door as a fist pounded on the metal. The door didn’t open, but the rider stood there for some time. It appeared he was talking to someone on the other side. Then the door slid open a fraction and the rider pulled a pouch from his belt. Were they exchanging money? Was this rider purchasing one of the stolen children?

Darvyn went on immediate alert. If the rider attempted to leave with a child in tow, Darvyn would have to stop them at the risk of exposing the Keepers and possibly endangering the other children. Aggar had not yet come up with a solid plan for saving the captives, and if he had any ideas, he hadn’t shared them.

The door opened wide enough to reveal a tall, lanky nabber with scars marring his shaven head. His face screwed up, and he shook his head before slamming the door shut. The rider, still obscured in the hood, banged on the door again for several minutes to no response.

Darvyn hoped the man would get on his horse and go back to wherever he came from. Finally, it seemed he realized no one was going to answer. He approached the horse, but instead of climbing on, he pulled a container from the saddlebag. Then he returned to the warehouse and began pouring out liquid around the base of the structure.

“What is he doing?” Farron whispered.

Once again, Darvyn attempted to read the intentions and mood of the cloaked figure but could not. The substance that the rider was pouring on the tin and mud-brick structure he could sense, however.

“That’s kerosene. He’s going to burn it down,” Darvyn said, dropping the binoculars and rushing to his feet. He raced across the flat ground toward the building. He had the presence of mind to sing a gust of wind to blow up a cover of dust in front of him, in case one of the nabbers peered out the door. It was poor concealment, but he had to stop the rider from burning the warehouse and all the children inside alive, if that was indeed the fool’s intention.

Footsteps sounded behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to find Farron fast on his heels. He didn’t have time to admonish the boy. The rider disappeared behind the back of the building, and Darvyn only hoped he could reach the idiot before he struck the match.