The Goblets Immortal by Beth Overmyer (read 50 shades of grey .TXT) 📕

then tied off the reins, as much good as that would do. That his horse had figured out how to free himself was worrisome. Not that he feared Triumph running off…very far. He was a loyal beast. He would return. But this could prove fatal for them both if he wasn’t properly managed.

With a sigh, Aidan pulled his copper dagger from his saddlebag and sliced open a vine from an overhanging branch. He drank several mouthfuls of its juice, draining the plant entirely. He had several water bladders stored in Nothingness – two full, five empty – and he’d been planning on filling them from Tris’s well once the deal had been closed. Aidan shook his head. It would do no good now to dwell on it.

Aidan went upstream and splashed his face to cool himself. The water felt so good, though, that he threw caution aside. Without a glance about, he stripped down, cast his garments onto the bank, and waded into the shallow water. With a sigh he sunk under, cleansing himself of a week’s worth of grime.

The wood was silent when he emerged, save for the night calls of wild birds and the rushing of water. It would be dark soon. He’d best get started on a shelter. No fire tonight; he couldn’t risk it.

After climbing back into his trousers, he went in search of a hollow or some nature-made way of covering himself from the elements. Thunder rumbled in the distance. He knew he should have first made his shelter and then enjoyed the water. Still, he couldn’t blame himself for his absent-mindedness. The seer’s words still troubled him.

How had she known of his parents? Of Samuel? “My fault.” The words came out unbidden, a dark habit of his mouth. It was true, though. Still, Aidan couldn’t afford to dwell on that just now.

He shook off his darker thoughts and manually gathered sticks and branches, which he would prop up against the wind and rain that he knew were coming. He could Call objects to himself, saving physical energy for tomorrow. But his mind was exhausted and needed the break, and he wanted to keep up muscle tone, just in case brawn was ever needed.

After the better part of an hour, he had managed to make a decent shelter for himself and was about to start one for his horse. That’s when he felt two dozen human Pulls. Twenty-plus people – men or women – approached. They were a mile off yet, but they might very well pass him by. Aidan ran for his horse and swore. Triumph had freed himself and was nowhere to be found. A whistle would surely give his position away, so Aidan had no choice but to hide and pray his horse went undiscovered.

But he had left his shirt on the banks! Aidan Called it, panting hard as it flew into his hand. Now for the saddlebag…. That took more concentration because he wasn’t certain where his blasted horse had gotten to. He sat there, feeling for the Pull of the saddle, and had just laid his mind on it, when horse hooves clashed and clattered on his path.

Again he closed his eyes, feeling for the saddlebag. Got you, he thought as he Dismissed and then accidentally Summoned it. It landed with a thud next to him. It might as well have been a war cry, how loudly it landed.

The horses’ approach stopped. The men’s voices quieted.

Aidan felt them spreading out, surrounding him. He could Dismiss himself again…if he weren’t so exhausted. No, he would have to hide and wait this one out.

“There’s bandits in these here woods,” rasped an old man’s voice. “Oughtn’t we comb through the brush?”

That statement was followed by laughter. “Uncle, you a’feared?”

Someone spat. “Nah. Just careful, ’tis all. Say, what is this?”

Aidan froze. There was a familiar whinny, which was taken up by several other horses. Triumph. Trust the beast to reappear at the least convenient moment.

“His rider can’t have gone far.”

“Aye. Perhaps he’s wounded.”

“Nah, he looks all right,” said the old man’s voice.

“I meant the rider. We’d best spread out an’ look.” Their footsteps came nearer to Aidan’s shelter.

Aidan caught a glimpse of red and orange fabric through the gaps in the branches. Could these men belong to Lord Dewhurst?

“Can’t be far,” said a new voice, an old woman’s. “There be footprints all over the bank.”

Aidan cursed himself and his carelessness.

“Well, where do they lead, woman?”

Something was whispered and more footsteps drew nearer. Aidan felt the Pull of eight people, and….

“You’d better show yourself, sir.”

He thought of the copper knife stowed in his saddlebag. He had fought off more than five men in the past, but never when this weak from exhaustion. There was only one option left him: let things play out.

With a yawn, Aidan crawled out of his shelter, rose to his full height, and stretched. “May I help you?”

The ragged men before him were no soldiers. Bandits, perhaps. Hired spies, maybe. But Aidan doubted it.

The woman with them laughed. “Well, see, Jeb? One man and an unarmed one at that.”

A fat old man grunted. “It could’ve been worse, woman.”

“What is your business in this wood, sir?” said a man with a neat brown beard, his thinning hair pulled back in a tail.

“What is anyone’s business here?” Aidan asked him, assuming he was the one in charge.

They studied each other in tense silence, the others frozen, waiting for their leader’s verdict. “There was a spot of bother over at Prewitt manor. Apparently there was sightings of a wanted man on the estate.”

With effort, Aidan kept his expression neutral. “I’m sorry to hear it. I pray the family is safe.”

The head man scratched at his beard. “You know the master there, then?”

Aidan shook his head. “No, but I have had dealings with some of the staff. Good people, Mr. and Mrs. Collins.”

“They say Lord Dewhurst had a screaming fit, had to be carted off to a doctor.”

He blinked with false surprise. “Lord Dewhurst?”

“You never