Horde (Razorland #3)(49)

His hard glance swept our group, then the guard snapped, “We don’t open the gate for beggars and thieves. Go plead for charity elsewhere.”

Indignant, I replied, “We have skins to trade.”

After two impressive failures, I knew better than to share our true purpose with a man who worked the gate. While he might pretend to be important, if he were truly a policy maker, he wouldn’t be stationed here. Behind me, Fade held up the string of pelts he carried. We had hunted as we traveled and Stalker prepared the furs, so they would survive long enough to lend plausible credence to our reason for visiting Gaspard.

“You’re an awful big group of fur traders,” the man said doubtfully. “The ones I’ve known traveled in ones and twos, better to avoid the Muties.”

Morrow cocked his head, his manner quizzical. “There won’t be any new armor for you with that attitude, my man.”

The gate guard swore. “Fine. You can come in and trade, but if I hear of any problems from the lot of you, I’ll have you in the stocks before nightfall.”

From Salvation, I was familiar with that punishment. And it was definitely to be avoided. The only positive thing about all the traveling was that we’d gotten good at eluding detection by the Freaks, as they roved in great bands. It was as if they were taking some kind of measure of our defenses, and I wondered if they meant to offer similar deals to other settlements, like the quiet conquering of Otterburn.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, I thought, if they just let us live.

But my stomach turned at the idea of offering our dead, now that I knew it was wrong, and I couldn’t sit idly by while someone I loved sacrificed for the greater good. Even the old Deuce, the one who desperately wanted to be pure Huntress, would’ve caviled at that tithe. Freaks couldn’t be permitted to win the war that way.

The gate clanged as they hauled it up. I strode forward before the guard changed his mind. Inside, I saw that it had taken six men to get the thing open, which meant it was incredibly heavy. That offered safety, but I also had the sense of stepping into a trap when it banged shut behind us. All the guards were dirty and unshaven with a hard look in their eyes. When she noticed it, Tegan stepped closer to me while Tully instinctively reached for her weapon, checking the motion when she realized it would be unwise to seem hostile.

Unlike other towns we had visited farther inland, all the houses were made of stone. This added to the cold, forbidding air when I was used to homey timber structures. Of course, sometimes, like Winterville, the town had been expanded using salvage from the old world, but even that looked more welcoming than endless rows of squat stone buildings. Most of the windows were shuttered at this hour of the day, which struck me as unusual. If I lived in a house like that, I’d want all the warmth I could muster.

“Where’s the market?” Morrow asked.

Wordless, the guard pointed. Apparently he wasn’t wasting more time with a bunch of eccentric trappers. We had met such traders—and the surly man was right—they tended to travel in groups no larger than two. It was common to see a man alone, covered in furs and skins, with a beard all the way down his chest. Dressing in that fashion—so many parts of other animals—probably made tracking difficult for the Freaks.

Once we moved deeper into town, I didn’t send Stalker to scout. I couldn’t explain the instinct, only that I felt it best for us to stick together. Fade stayed close at my back, too, and I could tell by Tegan’s expression that she felt the sensation of countless watchers, like the entire town had their eyes pressed up against their shutters. A chill went through me that had nothing to do with the weather.

At first I feared the guard had directed us wrong out of spite, but eventually the narrow lane between buildings widened into a public square. Vendors sold their wares out of baskets and wooden carts; there was food, clothing, piles of kitchen items, and used goods. Beckoning to Fade, I beelined for the man who was running a knife across some damp skins, preparing to turn them into leather.

“I’d like to trade,” I said.


The tanner pawed through our bundle, examining each fur with a critical stare. Then he nodded. “I can use these.” He counted out fifty bits of metal, then handed them to me.

They jingled in my palm. “What’s this?”

His look turned scornful. “Haven’t you spent any time in a real town? That’s money, you idiot. You buy things with it. Food and lodging, goods and services.”

I already didn’t like Gaspard. “Other towns use different items, like wood tokens.”

The tanner became less critical. “I didn’t know that. Interesting.”

Most likely, I was better traveled than he was, especially after the past month, but I didn’t comment further. This seemed a likely place to speak my piece, but I had misgivings. I told myself I was just hungry; and it made sense to buy some supplies since we had local chits. Once we finished our business, then I’d make my speech.

I hate this. So much.

I gave four to each person in the group with two left over and we split into pairs to shop. Fade came with me. He slipped his hand into mine without thinking about it; and the casual nature of the gesture made my heart sing. We stopped first to look at a basket full of brightly painted wooden squares.

“What are these?” I asked the vendor.

Delighted, he broke the thing into pieces. “It’s a puzzle box. It goes together like this.”