The Spaces Between (A Drunkard's Journey) Read Online Free Page B

to know a lot about them. Did you set me up? And if so, why would you kill one of your own—or did your aim miss? Were you trying to kill me?”
    Qainur may have had success with such pathetic logic in the past, but Torplug reacted violently; the small-man angrily reared his horse to stop. The others were forced to clumsily follow. The three angrily stared at each other, and a caravan of spices had to maneuver quickly to avoid slamming into them. He raised his hands and light started dancing between his fingers. Zhy heard a crackle and cringed. Qainur simultaneously drew steel.
    “I don’t miss!” the mage barked. “Tenth branch up from the bottom, only the first third, leaving the shape of Y!” he yelled.
    “Wh—” Qainur began, his sword out. He had frozen, wondering what sort of trickery the mage was trying now.
    There was a loud whoosh as a bright tendril of white light flew past Qainur’s left ear. He ducked instinctively then turned around abruptly, trying to follow the flying bolt with his eyes. But by the time he turned, the magic had done its damage, and there was a violent crack as the bolt slammed into the large branch of an enormous white pine. The branch gave way immediately and crashed into the bramble below the tree.
    Zhy’s jaw was halfway down his chest. He stared at the tree then moved his gaze to Torplug and Qainur. The mage had dropped his hands and was fixing a vicious glare at the mercenary, who had let his sword fall to his side.
    One, two—great Sacuan’s scrotum! He hit it exactly. All that remained of the branch was a section shaped like a Y. And it was the tenth branch up.
    “If you ever,” he barked, taking a deep breath. “If you ever cross me again, or doubt my intentions, or try to hurt me,” he snapped a quick glance at Zhy. “I will not aim for a tree branch. Do you understand?”
    “I-I’m sorry, I—” Qainur stammered.
    “ Do you understand? ” he barked.
    His scruffy jaw worked and he ground his teeth. “Y-yes, I-I apologize.” The words came out like rough sand.
    “Then turn your ugly horse around and ride.” Torplug turned abruptly and stalked toward his horse.
    Qainur started, seemingly placated, but his jaw worked with even more fury, and any previous embarrassment slipped quickly into anger. He raised his head and addressed Torplug’s back with a curt, “No.”
    “Excuse me?” The mage half turned.
    “No. That isn’t an answer. You tell me right now what you are doing and who you work for? Answer me!”
    Torplug said nothing. Then he slowly turned around to face the mercenary. His expression was blank, and Zhy thought for a brief second that he would shrug and say something noncommittal.
    Instead, a bolt of green lightning blasted into Qainur’s chest, lifting him off his horse. The force from the green strand of light sent him flying across the road, and he landed in an overgrown juniper bush with a crash and a grunt. The air smelled of burnt hair, and specks of green light still danced on Torplug’s fingers. He scanned the road, his eyes dark and murky. There were no caravans in sight and no sign of the Counsel Guard. The small-man then approached the mercenary, who lay spread unevenly across the evergreen bush.
    Qainur rubbed his head again, then glared at Torplug. Zhy thought he looked rather comical, lying in the carpet of evergreen bushes, his back extended backward along the plant’s center core of small, knobby branches. The mercenary rolled off the side of the juniper and slowly stood. He had not been victim of so much physical violence for many years. And never by anyone with such a small stature—Zhy would laugh at the irony of it, but he didn’t dare anger the mage any more.
    Torplug considered Qainur for a few moments, his eyes still dark. Then the oddly gray and blue color returned, and the small-man laughed. “Oh dear, oh dear.” He laughed again. “That is a first! You really are a block-headed lout, aren’t you? I told you I