Chapter 3

Butu hit the ground running, his feet barely touching the rocky sand. The buildings didn't even offer a shadow! He ducked under the first rope, hitched his arm around it, and swung up to the tent's roof. There was nothing tricky until the stables, which he had to run over for having to go sunset, but at least by then the sun would be on his side.

Three steps along the roof he dropped down, grabbed the guide line for the tent, and swung underneath it, gracefully landing back on the edge again. One more step to the corner — he dove for the corner headfirst, grabbed the tip of the pole in one hand and the line in the other, swung a full turn on the line and launched himself for the next tent.

As he turned the first corner, he risked a glance at Hatal on the other side of town. Of course the younger boy was a good distance ahead, but he hadn't had to think about the sun. Immediately to Butu's right, Paka raced the short ways across the roof, an honest eye to make sure Butu didn't cheat.

He dove off the side of the corner of the tent again, whipped under the line, and touched the gravelly ground briefly. Ahead was the night enclosure for the mules. He leapt onto the fence and took in the situation with a glance even as he stepped onto the back of the first mule.

Not enough to run across. I'll have to jump from back to back.

The mule under his feet brayed an objection and tried to shake him off, but Butu had already jumped to the next one. The mules filled the pen with brays and snorts as he went, and the handlers with a mix of cheers and curses. He pushed off the last one toward the pine post that was the corner.

Have to touch all corners, he thought, slapping it with his hand as he sailed past it. Paka easily kept up with him despite jogging along the pen's fence. Ahead, the stables. Leap — water barrel, fence, wall, grab the corner, haul himself up — arms wind-milling for a second because he had judged it too closely.

Too much bouncing.

He risked a glance as he picked up pace again. He'd caught up to Hatal, slowed because the livestock were being herded into their pen for the night. The shouts of the handlers rose as the animals lowed.

The stables were as big as the supply tent he had fallen off earlier, made mostly of stone, and had a steeply sloping slate roof. Which was more difficult for Paka to run, but Butu had to run on the gutters, designed to let what rainwater there was fall off into barrels at the corners. They could hold the weight of rushing water, but not so much the weight of a boy.

"I'm water flowing and dust on the wind," he chanted softly as he ran. "I've run this race before and I'll run this race again."

He flowed up the gutters, dancing at the very edge. Halfway to the other end of the stables, a gust of hot desert wind pushed him sideways so most of his body hung over the edge. None of his weight was on the gutters anymore, but he was still somehow running like a top spinning too fast to fall down.

Butu glanced to his left, noting the tent roof beneath him, spread out like a safety net.

If I fall, he thought, and instantly fell.

The tent shook as Butu landed in a crouch on it. He straightened quickly, trying to regain his stride. The roof sagged under his foot, sucking at it. He pulled free, but overbalanced. Arms wind-milling, he stumbled sideways. Panicking, he tried to jump off the roof, but instead of catapulting him into the air, the support pole snapped.

"Butu!" Paka screamed.

Butu clung to the tent as the weathered canvas swung inward, drawing the wall down with it and pouring more weight on the rest of the structure. He slammed into the central support pole, knocking the wind out of him, and slid to the ground. A few seconds later, with a comforting sigh, the entire tent collapsed.

Butu didn't move right away, even as cries of outrage rose from outside. He sensed Paka nearby, not quite courageous enough to run away. His breathing became normal — as best could be given the weight of the canvas on him — but a small pain shot up his leg from his foot.

Maybe Hatal didn't see me, he thought as hands began to shift the canvas. I've lost to him twice today, and both times I fell. He imagined Zasbey's strangely concerned stare again. If I can fall down, how many other, worse things could happen to me? As if to keep that in his head, the pain in his ankle gave one, larger throb, then vanished.

The canvas whipped off his head to reveal a crowd of onlookers. Butu sneezed just as a large, strong hand grasped him by his arm and hauled him to his feet. His eyes met those of Jusep al'Ahjea himself. The kluntra's eyes were as granite as the Sentinel's Finger. He turned his head to look anyplace else.

Pater el'Ahjea, the kluntra's father and the only elf with skin near Butu's coloring, stood watch over the sobbing Paka. A dozen familiar faces and a handful of others — many of them dressed very nicely in the colorful robes of the rich — watched with expressions from amusement to scorn. One particularly round one, holding a glass of wine in one hand and a chicken leg in the other, cursed loudly.

Jusep was a huge man, broad-chested and tall. He wasn't the strongest man in Jasper, nor the smartest, but he had won his fair share of battles and few people had bested him in trade. His big arms crossed that chest now, as he let go of the young elf.

"You should learn to control your kids better," the fat elf said loudly, just as Jusep opened his mouth. Butu cringed. He could see Jusep's gritted-teeth expression, exposing his gold tooth. The foundling dared another look at the guest again, noting his sword had the marking of the Kadrak — a pommel shaped as a metal crescent like a pair of bull's horns.

Hatal and Remi appeared near Paka, pushed into a line by some clansmen. Finally the kluntra spoke, tooth flashing in the failing light. He spoke loudly, not just for the four boys.

"I should make it a rule that children are to be in bed by the time the sun reaches the edge of the mountains," he said, sharing his stern gaze among them. "You have destroyed someone's home with your game. You have interrupted the reception for our friend from Mnemon, Daren el'Kadrak."

The round elf gave a start, nearly spilling his wine, but Jusep barely paused.

"I'm not surprised you're all Zasbey's charges. I would think one of you was old enough to know better." His eyes stopped longer on Butu.

Butu hung his head, stung.

"Take them to their tent. See that they stay there. Someone find Zasbey for me." They started leading the boys away, when Jusep suddenly added, "And I will visit later to see if all is as it should be."

Butu looked backward as they were led off. Daren swallowed a bite of chicken and said something to Jusep, whose expression shifted to one of amusement as he said something back. They and many others departed for their reception. Butu thought it was some sort of dinner, and his stomach rumbled. Then he tripped, nearly falling.

"Stop that," one of their guards said.

He faced front again, met Hatal's glaring eyes. He didn't know what to say, not yet, so he averted his eyes.

A circle of children — none of them older than seven, he was sure — shouted and giggled in a corner where two tents met. A handful of them poked something with sticks. He caught a glimpse of a sand adder struggling to escape, only to be prodded or sometimes picked up and thrown back into the center. While he watched, it hissed at them and bit one, but this only made them laugh even more.

When was the last time I played with a sand adder? Butu smiled in memory. Eventually, one of the adults will put it out of its misery.

SYNOPSIS  |  CHAPTER 1  |  CHAPTER 2  |  CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4 |  CHAPTER 5  |  CHAPTER 6

Copyright 2005-2007 Eric Zawadzki and Matthew Schick. All Rights Reserved.
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