Chapter 16 — The Caller's Eye

The horns came at dusk. Not the deep, hunting horns from the tunnels, but a thinner, sharper note that rolled down the valley like a knife through cloth. The camp shifted instantly. Fires tamped down. Children shoved into tents. Guards straightened their gear.

Then he arrived.

Not the caller himself, but a man who wore the role like armor. He came on horseback, the animal sleek and well-fed, nothing like the half-starved beasts the bandits kept for burden. His cloak was dyed deep crimson, his boots polished, and a seal of beaten bronze hung at his throat. Two armed escorts rode behind him, silent as stone.

The leader of the camp met him at the edge of the clearing. They clasped arms stiffly, no warmth in it, and words passed too low for me to hear. Then the red-cloaked man rode forward, his gaze sweeping the camp like a ledger being balanced.

He smiled. "Efficient," he said. "Orderly. The caller will be pleased."

The bandits bent their heads, some grudgingly, some eager.

I watched from where I sat with Merlin tied at my side. The representative's eyes slid across the camp, counting crates, hides, the neat stacks of weapons, the children pressed silent against tent walls. His smile deepened.

"This," he said loudly, "is how chaos is tamed. Not rabble, not raiders. Providers."

The word hung in the smoke. Some of the bandits straightened with pride. Others looked away, jaws clenched. I saw the cracks then, thin but real—the difference between those who thrived in this arrangement and those who merely endured it.

The representative dismounted, boots crunching in the dirt. He walked the rows of crates, nodded at the tally marks, praised the ledger-keeper for his precision. He inspected the hanging meat, the drying hides, the racks of arrows.

When his gaze fell on me, he paused.

"And this?" he asked.

"A prisoner," the leader said curtly. "Unusual. Might fetch value."

The man's eyes narrowed, flicking over my clothes, my boots, my hat. He smiled faintly, a collector who had spotted something rare.

"Very unusual," he murmured. "The caller will want to see him."

Merlin growled low, the faintest pulse of light flickering in his chest. The representative's smile sharpened, and for a moment the camp's order felt paper-thin, stretched taut over something far darker.

— Sixth day in the bandit camp, the Caller's representative arrives —