The barbarian waved Chainer off and dropped the rest of the way down to the ground, trying to evade the pollen. With his face half-buried in mulch, Kamahl coughed the pollen out and tried to suck clear forest air in.
Chainer hesitated. He didn’t want to leave
Kamahl in the dirt, and he didn’t want to face the grendelkin without support. The huge monster took a step forward and casually snapped the top off another tree. It used the tree as a crude club, and it shambled for-ward, slamming into the ground and other trees with each step. “Poison,” Kamahl choked. His eyes were wet, but he had stopped coughing and was struggling back to his feet. “There aren’t any poisonous plants in this part of Krosan, Chainer. We’re being set up.”
Just outside the walls of Cabal City, far from the crushing waves of people and the ringing shouts in the marketplace, the young man pressed on. He called himself Chainer, and for the first time in a long, busy day he was unscheduled. He picked his way through the dwindling foot traffic, moving against the flow of people headed into the city. As he navigated around the last pedestrians in his path, he relished the rare gifts of free time and solitude. Without a training exercise to complete, an incantation to memorize, or a schedule to keep, Chainer was determined not to be found. He was a member of the Cabal by choice, ritual, and oath, and the Cabal demanded much from its initiates. His superiors would pounce on an idle boy proclaiming, “Nothing to do? I can fix that.” Chainer hated being rewarded for good work with more work.
