Tooth and Nail Preview

Taran had been walking for two days already. His bare feet had long since started bleeding by the time he heard horses approaching from behind him on a dirt road cutting through this inland forest. He turned, catching sight of a black horse-drawn carriage traveling far faster than him. The horses weren’t traveling at a full gallop, but even at a mild trot, they were both big and fast enough to trample Taran underfoot.

The prior three carriages to pass by had intentionally run Taran off the road, forcing him to jump into the undergrowth of the tree line just to avoid being trampled. They’d laughed as Taran pulled splinters from his arms and brushed the mud from his clothes. Their jeers still rang in his ears as this new carriage rumbled closer.

I ain’t jumping this time, Taran thought, wincing with each step and holding the knife tighter. After the last encounter, he’d found a walking stick, which he fashioned into a spear. They try to do it again, and I’m stabbing the horse. I don’t care if they chase after me. I’m gonna do it.

Taran didn’t have to. Instead, the two bridled horses whinnied as the carriage driver pulled on the reins and shouted commands. They slowed from a trot to a slow canter, matching Taran’s own limping pace. He glared at the closest horse as they walked side by side, noticing its clear brown eyes, gleaming chestnut coat, and healthy hooves. Taran flicked his gaze to its mouth as the horse revealed its yellow-white teeth and pink gums.

Don’t you even think about biting me, Taran thought, ready to jump back and thrust his spear at it. If I lose a finger, you’re losing your head.

“Excuse me, young man?” called a shrill voice.

Taran kept walking, ignoring the carriage altogether. Probably some rich woman in the carriage just waiting to run me off the road and laugh… I ain’t gonna give her the chance.

“Young man. Your feet—they’re bleeding!”

It’s a trick, Taran thought, though he knew full well that his feet were bleeding. She just wants to hurt me—same as everybody else.

“Don’t seem that this vagrant wants to talk with you,” the reinsman said, sneering from atop the carriage. His plain black uniform, which had once been immaculate, was stained with sweat and mud. So was his wide-brimmed hat. While Taran was wary, he wasn’t afraid, for the carriage driver wasn’t nearly as big as Da. This man was lanky but not very strong, and he had poor posture from a career of hunching over the top of carriages.

However, the man sitting on the bench beside the carriage driver was more intimidating. Burlier. He wore a starched uniform with a red coat, blue pants, white shirt, and yellow adornments. He had symbols embroidered into his shoulders, though Taran had no clue what those meant. Nor the meaning of the patch on his chest: a shield with a falcon soaring upward, holding a sword in its talons. Even the yellow feather sticking out of his hat was confusing. Was he trying to look like a peacock?

That a soldier? Taran wondered, having never seen one before because his home was so far inland. He frowned, thinking about it. That ain’t my home no more.

“We ought to be getting along, milady,” the soldier said, nodding for the reinsman to crack the reins and quicken the horses’ pace.

“I gave no such order, Alan,” said the woman. “Slow those horses, Travis!”

Begrudgingly, Travis the reinsman gave a command and cracked the reins twice, signaling the horses to match Taran’s pace. Instead of walking in-step with the horses, he was now beside the carriage window. The woman leaned halfway out of it, shouting, “For Eo’s sake, stop walking, child! Your feet are bleeding!”

Taran eyed her. She wore a linen dress of red and yellow—to curry favor from both Eo and Io, no doubt. Taran might not have been that smart, but he sure wasn’t stupid enough to not know the Goddesses’ colors when he saw them. Her neckline was high with a frill collar, hiding the bodice underneath. Skin a pale-blue color, her hair was the same brown shade as Ma’s.

Just thinking of Ma made Taran’s heart ache so badly that the pain in his feet was trivial in comparison. Blindsided by his own sorrow, he stopped walking and swayed in the breeze as Ma often had between beatings. Oh Ma… Why’d you have to go?

Ten feet ahead of him, the lady called for the carriage to stop. When it had, a second soldier inside the carriage opened the door and helped the lady out onto the dirt road. She stared at Taran, as if expecting him to approach.

Taran didn’t. He was too busy compartmentalizing his emotions to move. Don’t think about it, Taran thought. Don’t think about her. Just… don’t think.

“Lady Matilda, the urchin’s carrying a knife and a spear,” said the first soldier, who clambered down from the top of the carriage to join the lady. “I don’t think you should try helping him.”

“Oh, but I do,” Lady Matilda replied, walking down the dirt road toward Taran as the soldiers followed.

Taran glanced about for additional carriages but saw none on the road. He looked to the woods, seeing little light between the ancient tree trunks because the canopy was too dense. Little more than weeds and hearty bushes could survive in the underbrush. Should he run to safety? Probably, but Taran was tired of running.

“Young man, I only want to help you. I could sew up your feet, if you just—” Lady Matilda gasped as she stumbled over a loose rock and tripped on the flowing material of her own dress.

Taran’s paralysis broke just as she fell in the dirt. He dropped his weapons and rushed forward to her side as soldiers charged at him. “Stay back, you dirty urchin!”

One soldier backhanded Taran, who fell awkwardly on a loose rock and rolled his right ankle. Yelping, he tried to scramble to his feet, but his right foot stung too much. So Taran crawled back to his knife and spear. By the time Taran whirled around, the soldiers had helped Lady Matilda to her feet, though she looked furious. “Oh, Daniel, what did you do?”

“Me? I saved you from him!” the shorter soldier said, pointing at Taran with his free hand. “That mutt would have robbed you blind!”

“I ain’t no thief!” Taran spat back.

“Ah, so the scum does speak,” the taller soldier replied.

“Enough of that, both of you! I demand that you return to the carriage,” Lady Matilda said. “You can both ride on the bench with the reinsman until I say otherwise.”

Both soldiers looked incredulous. “You are punishing us for protecting you? That boy has a knife!”

“Which he dropped when he came to help me,” Lady Matilda said, shooing them away with a perfunctory gesture. “Go back to your post before you scare him further.”

“Scared? Who says I was scared? I ain’t a thief, and I ain’t scared neither!” Taran shouted, pushing himself to his feet and stifling a gasp as he put weight on his foot. He’d sprained his ankle twice before—once when playing with older kids, and again when Da had thrown him across the room in a drunken fury—but this didn’t feel a like sprain so much as a twist. He certainly hoped so, at least, because Taran had no choice but to keep walking on it. Even if that meant walking past Lady Matilda and her servants.

Taran took only a single step before the taller soldier shouted at him, putting a hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword. “You best stay where you are, ashboy.”

Ashboy. The word made Taran flinch. Ashboys were the children of ash, dust, and shadows—orphans. Kids without parents, a home, or even the right to a surname.

I ain’t Taran Acker no more. Just Taran Ash. That’s who I am now. Taran thought, sniffing as he tried to bottle up the pain that threatened to burst free through his eyes. He stuffed it deeper, not daring to inhale in case the breath became a sob.

“Alan! Shame on you. Return to the carriage at once!” Lady Matilda said, her tone as sharp as the crack of the reinsman’s whip.

Alan muttered something that Taran couldn’t hear, but Lady Matilda certainly did.

“A raise? My husband is paying all three of you plenty!” Lady Matilda said, seemingly growing a foot taller over the course of those words. “I want you to remember that when you speak to me, Alan. Is that understood?”

“Yes, milady,” Alan said, bowing stiffly in his uniform and climbing onto the bench above the carriage.

As both soldiers sat on either side of the reinsman, Lady Matilda huffed and brushed the dirt off of her clothes. She inspected the tear in the material just below her knee. “Will you look at that? A perfectly good dress gone to waste like this?” She let go of the material and sighed. “I suppose it can be fixed with a bit of time and thread. At least it wasn’t my knee. Or my feet.” Staring pointedly at Taran, she added, “How bad do they hurt?”

Taran dropped his head down to stare at his own feet self-consciously, having no shoes to protect his soles from the rocks. Dirt encrusted his toe nails, as did blood. He shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

“You’re used to your feet bleeding?” Lady Matilda asked, cocking her head.

“Not that—pain,” Taran said, spitting blood from his mouth, having bit the inside of his cheek when he fell. He eyed Alan, who was studying him from the carriage bench.

Lady Matilda covered her mouth with a hand. “You poor thing.”

Taran pointed a finger at her. “Oy! I already know that I’m poor, lady. You don’t have to rub it in my face.”

“I didn’t mean it like—”

“Don’t care how you meant it. I ain’t a thing either. I might be an ashboy now, but that don’t mean I’m a child.” Taran folded his arms across his chest. “I just turned nine. I’m practically an adult.”

“You’re only nine?” she said, gasping. “You look as old as thirteen!”

“You calling me a liar?”

“No,” Lady Matilda said, putting up her hands and trying to calm him down. “Listen, where are you heading?”

“Anywhere that ain’t where I was,” Taran said without breaking eye contact.

“That’s… not specific,” Lady Matilda replied. When he didn’t respond, she asked, “Well, if you don’t have a destination in mind, would you like to accompany me in my carriage? We could travel while I get your feet cleaned up.”

“Are you gonna try to hurt me?” Taran asked, scratching his neck with the flat side of the kitchen knife.

“Me? Hurt you?” Lady Matilda asked, looking startled. “Why would you think I’d do such a horrible thing? All I want to do is offer you some help!”

“You ain’t need a why to hurt people. All’s you need is your fists. Or a blade. Or a whip. When you got that, you don’t need a why for nothing.” Taran shifted on his feet as his ankle pained him. “As for help, it ain’t ever free. You know that, don’t you?”

Lady Matilda leaned away, apalled. “You’d rather keep walking on bleeding feet than trust me?”

“Couldn’t even trust my old man, so why should I trust you? Because you’ve got a couple horses and a nice dress? Nah.” Taran used the spear to balance, taking part of the weight off of his injured ankle.

Lady Matilda pursed her lips, putting her hands on her hips. “You… you’re right, Taran. I do want something from you. I’m lonely, and I’d like some company. Entertain me, and I’ll fix your feet for you. Even trade.”

Taran glanced at Travis, who was still staring at him. “Can I bring my knife?” Taran stared at the blade. “I’d sheath it, but I don’t have one yet.”

Lady Matilda only smiled. “As long as you don’t plan to stab me with it, you can bring it.”

“Then you’ve got yourself a deal, lady.”

“Please, just call me Matilda.”

***

Taran sat inside the carriage as it jerked down the dirt and gravel road. He winced as Matilda cleaned his feet and bandaged them with spare sewing material from one of her clothing trunks. He couldn’t watch her work as she’d instructed him to lie on his back and hold still. Uneasily, he half-expected her to hit him while his back was turned.

When it was over, Taran sat straight and watched her out of the corner of his eye as his hands roved about the interior. His fingers brushed the plush red velvet that lined both walls, the area beneath the windows, and even the seats. “I ain’t ever seen anything like this before,” Taran said, adjusting himself on the velvet bench so his feet could swing freely.

“The carriage? It is quite nice,” she said without a sense of pride. Instead, she kept furtively glancing at him while sewing together the tear in her dress. “It’d be better if more people had access to these, so boys”—she harrumphed—“excuse me, young men like yourself don’t have to walk until your feet bleed.”

“Walking ain’t what made ‘em bleed,” Taran said, still brushing the velvet and watching the shade of red change. “It was carriages. Three different carriages ran me off the road. I jumped off and cut my foot on the rocks.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Because they could, so they did it.” Taran looked her up and down, staring at her delicate hands, beautiful dress, and glossy hair. But then his eyes rested on her face, taking in the high eyebrows, partially open lips, and hand that covered them. Confused as to her surprise, Taran scratched his chin and added, “You don’t go outside that much, do you?”

“Beg your pardon?”

“Well, the world seems a lot smaller when it’s in a window. All’s it takes is a couple of looks outside to see what goes on in it.” Taran stared at the trees whipping by. He turned his attention to the window itself, and the red velvet curtain that ran across the top of it. He drew the curtains closed before opening them again. “Do you keep the windows covered often so you don’t have to look outside?”

“I’ll have you know that I seldom use the curtains.”

“If you don’t use them, then why do you have them?” Taran asked, touching the material. “I know Ma could have made a lot of clothes with this curtain.”

Matilda’s cheeks burned bright red. “It’s, well, uh, I just…” She trailed off, looking out the window. “I suppose I don’t look outside as much as I should, if we’re being honest with one another.”

“I ain’t one for lying, lady. My old man did too much of it.” Taran slowly unclenched his fingers from the fabric of the velvet bench, realizing that his hands had formed fists.

“You know, you remind me a lot of my husband, Lord Wolsey,” Matilda said with a smile. “He gave me this carriage, you know, but he’d never ride in one himself. Says the only way to travel is horseback. Stubborn man, he is.”

“Don’t know nothing about horses,” Taran said. “Just that they cost a lot.”

“A good stallion isn’t as expensive as you might think. Just a gold crescent. Maybe two. Certainly no more than that.”

Taran snorted. “Just a crescent? My family could have lived off that for an entire year.”

Embarrassed, Matilda looked at the floorboards of the carriage and touched a gold necklace at the base of her throat. “It is a lot of money, I suppose. Forgive me. It has been some time since I’ve been around… children such as yourself.”

“Poor ashkids, you mean,” Taran said, staring at her necklace. The solid gold strand looked like the curving stem of a vine as golden leaves sprouted from it every quarter-inch. Taran squinted to see the details of veins on the leaves, stunned as light reflected off of its metal surface. Its centerpiece was a gold-backed medallion with a red ruby formed in the shaped of a crescent.

“I didn’t mean—”

“Yeah, you did. It’s alright. I get it,” Taran said, eyes returning to her face to see Matilda’s cheeks blushing fiercer. “Must be nice having all that money.”

“Well, my husband has done quite well for himself,” Matilda said, still uncomfortable. “Wolsey began his career in the Armada as a cabin boy when he was ten and rose to the rank of admiral during the Second Borovan War. When he left the service, the Jade Parliament granted him the title of lord and some land to the north, halfway between New Linfeld and Eliston. It’s mostly forest, but ships always need new timbers, and what land is cleared we use for agriculture. It’s a highly profitable venture.”

Taran’s thick eyebrows furrowed as he tried to connect the information. “The government just gave him that land?”

“In return for my husband’s service to the country, yes.”

“Seems as close to free as anything else I can think of,” Taran said, grinning as a planned formed in his head. I’m nine, so I can become an admiral even quicker than he did, he thought. Then Taran asked, “Think I could become a lord if I joined the Armada?”

“Do I think it? Taran, I know it,” Matilda said squeezing his hand with one of her own. “As long as you don’t go around cutting up your feet, of course. I think you’ll need those out on the sea.”

Taran looked out the window, still staring at the seemingly endless line of trees. Sunlight overhead made the road peaceful, but the darkness within the thickets was insurmountable. Don’t have to farm out on the sea. The Armada will make me stronger too, he thought. I can go into the service and become a lord. Then I’ll visit Da. Taran felt a surge of hope rise in his chest. That don’t sound like such a bad plan to me.

“So… how do I join the Armada?” Taran asked, frowning. He didn’t know the first thing about a life outside of farming.

“You sign up with a recruiting depot. There is one in New Linfeld, which is where I am heading.”

“Huh.” Taran twiddled his thumbs. “Would you mind if I stay with you until we get there?”

“Taran, I would love that if you were to stay with me for a while! And, once we get to New Linfeld, I’ll even see to it that my husband drafts a letter of recommendation on your—”

Four small things, akin to rocks, thudded against the front of the carriage. Then something heavier. Taran saw a flash of red and blue out of his window as one soldier fell from the carriage and into the dirt. Then it was gone. The reinsman cried out in agony as the other soldier shouted in alarm.

Matilda frowned, lips pulling tight. She opened her window and shouted, “Alan! What’s going on out there?”

“Bandits, milady!” Alan shouted. “Stay inside the carriage, I’ll lead us to—”

The soldier never finished his sentence. Instead, the horses whinnied and charged down the dirt road. Trees passed by faster until they were a blur. The galloping horses sounded like Kuma’s thunder.

“Alan! What’s going on?” Matilda shouted again, leaning out of the window. Immediately, she shrieked and leaned back into the carriage, pale as she stared over at Taran. “Alan… He’s dead.”

“What?” Taran looked out his own window, seeing the dead reinsman slumped over the bench’s railing with a crossbow bolt in his neck. He glanced back down the road, seeing four horses and their riders chasing after the carriage. One rider, wearing a dark cloak that hid his face, raised a one-handed crossbow and pointed it at Taran. He leaned back into the carriage as a bolt shot past him.

“Thieves!” Matilda gasped, looking through both windows before grabbing the fabric of her dress. “They’re chasing us!”

I didn’t come all this way to get beat again, Taran thought as he pulled himself back to his feet and grabbed his knife, biting the blade as he reached for his spear.

“What are you doing?” Matilda shouted as Taran leaned out the window. She pulled him back inside. “You can’t go out there!”

Taran spat out the blade. “I ain’t letting no one hurt me again.” He handed her the spear. “If a horse gets too close to the window, stick ‘em with this.” Then he put the blade back in his mouth, reached for the window, and hefted himself outside. Wind pulled at him, trying to tear him from the side as he held on with all his strength. He sidled forward, holding on to the top as splinters raked his hands.

“Shoot that squall!” said a voice behind him.

Taran didn’t look back. He kept crawling forward, even when the carriage jerked over a loose rock. Taran all but lost his grip. He opened his mouth to scream, and the knife fell from his mouth. It tumbled to the ground and was left behind as the carriage rumbled down the road.

“No!” Taran remained frozen, holding onto the edge of the bench. What in the Core am I even doing out here? This is stupid!

Another crossbow bolt whizzed by, missing Taran’s head by only an inch.

“You damned fool!” a bandit shouted behind Taran. “You missed! How did you squalling miss!”

“Shut up! You ain’t’ve done no better!” replied another.

Taran crawled forward again, to get away from the voices if nothing else. He felt the thieves close the distance behind him, even felt the horses’ breaths on his neck. Taran reached for the bench a second time, catching its edge and pulling himself up. He sprawled onto the wood, the back of his clothes soaking in blood as he stared at the dead soldier who had a bolt sticking through one eye.

Taran screamed, pushing himself away from the corpse as he hunkered down beneath the top of the carriage. Hands shaking, Taran reached for the fallen reins, leaning down almost to the dirt. “Almost… there,” he said, fingertips grazing for its edge. He leaned lower, grabbed the reins, and sat down on the bench.

Then he pulled the reins, tugged them, and moved them from side to side. The panicked horses didn’t respond to the movements. Instead, they kept galloping. “How do I steer?” he shouted to Matilda.

“Use the reins!”

Taran wanted to slap her. “Yeah, I got that part! But how!”

“Like a whip!”

Taran snapped the reins, and the horses lurched forward even faster.

But the thieves still gained on him. Two came up on the left side, the front rider aiming a crossbow. Taran ducked as the bolt flew overhead. He reached for the reinsman’s whip, which was pinned beneath the dead body.

“Damn the Core!” Taran shouted. He slammed his shoulder into the corpse and braced his legs on the side of the bench. Screaming, he pushed the body off the edge and let it fall. The carriage groaned as its wheels ran over the dead man’s legs, and the bandit’s horse tripped over the torso. The beast released a wild shriek, smashing into the ground with the rider. Both snapped their necks. The other bandit leaped onto the carriage just as his horse tripped.

The grizzled man held onto the side of the carriage for dear life, struggling to pull himself up onto the carriage’s top. Taran scrambled back, unsheathing the dead soldier’s sword and hefting it as the bandit peered over the edge.

“Squall you!” Taran shouted, cutting off the man’s arm. The bandit howled in pain, tumbling to the ground.

Another scream behind him made Taran turn. The other two brigands had reached the opposite side of the carriage. The lead horse whinnied and fell as Matilda stabbed it through the window with her spear. The horse hit the ground as the carriage rolled over its neck. The back wheel splintered and broke, and the carriage swerved as the weakened wheels broke away. The carriage slammed into the fourth bandit’s horse, both crashing to the ground as the carriage rolled.

The sharp turn threw Taran from the bench as the carriage and horses became a mass of splinters and bone. Landing hard on his shoulder, he crashed into the weeds and rocks by the tree line, tangling himself in some of the thorny growths which cut his skin and tore his clothes. Taran laid still, groaning as his body screamed in agony. But when Matilda didn’t get out of the overturned carriage, he crawled back to the road and stood up, seemingly unbroken despite his now-aching bones.

“Matilda?” he asked, approaching the carriage and opening the door. One look inside was enough to make him vomit in the dirt. Matilda wouldn’t wake up, not with the way her head had twisted halfway around. Wiping the bile away, Taran had just enough courage to reach inside and grab the necklace from her throat. He stuffed it into his pocket.

The only two people who were ever nice to me are gone, and there ain’t anything I can do about it, Taran thought. I can’t even bury her. What am I supposed to do?

A groan made Taran turn back to the fourth thief—the one who the carriage had slammed into. He groaned and screamed, his legs pinned beneath the dead horse. “Help! Please! Somebody help!”

Fury rose within Taran. His hands became fists as he stalked toward the thief. “You want help? Oh, I’ll help you, alright. I’ll help you so much that you’ll never need help again.”