“Your Majesty!” the first outrider puffed as he drew rein beside them, horse’s chest lathered in the heat. The man—boy, really—was red-faced and panting beneath his helm. “The drakes have spotted a campsite.”
“Anyone there?” Erik asked.
I just told you, Oliver thought, sourly, and then reprimanded himself.
“There’s no smoke, and no noise,” the outrider said. “Do you want us to launch a search?”
Erik turned to Oliver. “No,” he told the boy. “We’ll land the drakes and have them look.” His brows lifted expectantly.
Oh,nowyou want my input?Again, Oliver banished the nasty thought, and instead leaned into his bond with Percy.
His immediate surroundings faded out completely, and he saw only through Percy’s eyes.
From above, the encampment looked like a scene set up by a child, without the dolls. Crushed grass in overlapping paths, black, rock-ringed circles that marked fires, spits made of trimmed sticks and branches still in place. There were signs of horses—many of them—but no horses themselves, and no picket lines. Tracks—from wheels and from horses and from foot soldiers—beat west in long, unending lines that disappeared at the far-distant tree line. All signs present pointed to a retreat toward the capital.
But the tents were an oddity.
There were dozens of them, thick cream canvas anchored with wooden stakes, arranged in tidy squares around the snuffed cookfires. At the center of camp, the commander’s tent held pride of place, bedecked with purple banners and gold tassel fringe.
Percy saw movement—but it was only the wind ruffling the canvas.
Closer, Oliver thought, and Percy landed.
The force of his wings, the final great flap as he settled, blew over at least four tents; the canvas snapped free and went sailing and tumbling like so many handkerchiefs caught in a gust of wind. In their wake, Oliver could see only empty, sun-starved patches of grass between a framework of wooden tent poles. No chests, no collapsible camp chairs, no rugs, and no bedrolls.
No Sels, either.
At Oliver’s silent urging, Percy folded his wings and prowled through the camp, sniffing at dead fires and shoving his snout into tent flaps. The place was utterly deserted. Even more reassuring: the scents of men, and steel, and horses were old. Ithad been several days since anything larger than a field mouse had crossed this patch of land.
Oliver sent Percy a wave of gratitude, and then retreated to his own mind, a far smaller, and less sensory place, the adjustment to which left him listing in the saddle.
A strong hand gripped his shoulder—Erik’s—and righted him.
Oliver blinked, and took a deep breath, and straightened his spine. “The camp’s abandoned. By several days, at least. No sign of them in the distance.”
Erik nodded, but his gaze lingered on Oliver a long moment, concern etched with—something else. Something Oliver didn’t want to examine too closely. Doubt of Percy? No. Oliver didn’t think so; Erik had stopped resisting the advantage the drakes gave him. In fact, he seemed to have embraced it, quick to suggest dragon intervention or assistance, especially since the Sel raid in the forest.
He’s doubtingme, Oliver thought.
Erik turned to the outrider and said, “Tell the head of the column to proceed. We’ll search it for anything of value.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” The boy wheeled his mount and cantered back the way he’d come.
~*~
Oliver tensed all over as they neared the campsite, so much so that his mount jigged and tossed his head. He slid out of the saddle and approached the rest of the way on foot. Erik huffed behind him, but didn’t protest, and soon joined him.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know. Nothing, I think.”
And that was what was setting his teeth on edge: all of thenothinghe sensed as they closed in on the nearest tent with each step. Grass crunched underfoot, and insects croaked and sang, ausually-joyous sound that heralded spring’s official arrival. The sun beat down on the back of his neck, and sweat slicked his skin beneath his clothes. He realized he wasn’t breathing, and inhaled, slow and shaky.
He waited for the hum of magic. The prickle of supernatural awareness at the base of his skull. That ugly, exhilarating hot sensation in his blood he’d felt the night their own camp was raided.
But there was nothing. Not so much as a whiff of magic, not even on Percy’s end of their bond.
“What?” Erik pressed, tone firmer.
