Free All That Glitters by Auston Habershaw Page B

realize that, Hool, but there are no acceptable alternatives. I have a lot of old friends in Saldor. They can help us.”
    Artus shook his head. “It’s suicide! I won’t go! Why do this?”
    Tyvian had his eyes fixed on his ring hand, which lay in his lap. He looked as though he wanted to jump out the window rather than have this conversation, but he stayed where he was. “I already told you.”
    â€œNo!” Artus yelled. “Not good enough! Why would we walk into the place where you’re the most noticeable, with the most Defenders of anywhere in the West? I’m tired of just following you around everywhere!”
    Tyvian’s upper lip curled back in a snarl. “Nobody’s making you stay, boy! Feel free to leave if you hate my leadership that much!”
    â€œThat isn’t what I said!” Artus punched his own palm. “I’m just saying that everywhere we go, you come up with the plan, you tell us all what to do, and we never have any idea what’s coming next, and . . .”
    â€œAnd what? You’re saying you should get a vote or something?”
    â€œI’m saying that you keep almost getting us killed !”
    Silence.
    Tyvian froze, staring at Artus with an expression that he was certain had never come up during their nonverbal communication lessons. The smuggler said nothing, so Artus found himself talking. He didn’t yell. “First there was Freegate, then Galaspin last year, then Haldasburg after that, then the crypts, then Draketower . . .”
    â€œDraketower.” Tyvian nodded. “That’s what this is about, eh? You can’t let that one go, can you?”
    â€œWe coulda walked out the bloody door, Tyvian! We coulda been gone. ”
    â€œWhat makes you think Draketower was my bloody idea ?” Tyvian waved his ring hand in Artus’s face. “This! This Kroth-­spawned anchor of a ring made me do it! I had no goddamned choice!”
    Artus got in Tyvian’s face. He was tall enough now that they were nose-­to-­nose. “No! That’s not it! We coulda just rescued those girls—­we coulda just lit out with Saley, but no! You had to be goddamned clever, didn’t you? You thought we needed to nick the family jewels, too! And you know what happened?”
    Tyvian turned away. “She died. Is that what you want to hear? She died, and it’s my fault?” He walked to the woodstove and stared at it. “Does that make you feel better?” He nodded. “I get it. Fine. Point taken. I have a tendency to get . . . get ­people killed.”
    Artus did not feel better. Not one bit. His stomach was wrestling with itself. He felt angry and sick and tired and miserable all at the same time. “Why are we going to Saldor?”
    Tyvian stiffened. “I don’t have to justify myself to you! I’ve got a plan—­I’ve always got a plan—­and if you don’t like it, you can run off and do whatever you want. You’re a fifteen-­year-­old boy, Artus.” He jabbed a thumb at his chest. “Me—­ my plans­ —­have fed you, clothed you, and passed more silver through your hands than you’ve ever had in your life. Are you trying to tell me that the danger is too much for you? Well then, fine—­ go off and be a farmer. Marry some rosy-­cheeked Eretherian farmgirl, settle down, and till soil for the rest of your damned life.”
    Artus clenched his fists. “That’s not what I meant!”
    â€œNo? Then what? Maybe you want to suggest running away, up into the North, and meeting your lovely ‘Ma’? A grand plan, except going north means crossing the Dragonspine and that means passing through Freegate, which is even more dangerous than Saldor right now. Maybe you think we should stay here, living like feral cats in the bloody woods?”
    â€œWe should go west, to the