Free The Darkness Comes (The Second Book of the Small Gods Series) by Bruce Blake

had she seen or heard tell of the things she’d encountered as she made her way across the Spokes.
    How can the king allow this?
    She put the thought from her mind and glanced to her right, expecting to see she’d made it to this point before the corpse-merchant. The street stood empty but for a few men and women hurrying to and from the market. Danya’s forehead creased and she looked the other way, wondering if the merchants who accosted her had slowed her enough the wagon had already gone by.
    No. She saw a wagon in the avenue, but drawn by two horses, the seat occupied by a tall, thin man and a stout fellow wearing a disgruntled expression. Danya stepped back as they passed, the weapons they carried rattling and clanking in the back of the wagon. She watched them go, a sliver of panic starting in the pit of her gut. Did she lose the corpse-merchant?
    A moment later, the familiar wagon came around the bend in the roundabout. Danya let out her breath but didn’t relax. She reached across her body and gripped her sword’s hilt, ready to draw it as she stepped into the street directly into the wagon’s path. The driver reined his horse in and flipped his hood back from his head, one brow raised.
    “You again?”
    “Yes,” Danya said taking a purposeful stride forward. “And I mean to look in your wagon.”
    The man shrugged. “Go ahead, if you want.”
    Suspicious, Danya stepped forward. She skirted the driver, staying carefully out of range in case he should produce a spear from some hidden place, and made her way to the side of the wagon. Once there, she stopped, her gaze on the man watching her, a bemused expression on his face. It angered her. Who was he to dally as though she was a child?
    She peeked into the wagon, then quickly back at the driver to make sure he didn’t move. He smiled. An instant later, Danya realized what she’d seen and stretched up to peer over the side of the wagon.
    It was empty.
    Dried blood stained the floor boards and a stray boot lay in one corner, but all three corpses were gone.
    “Told you someone else’d buy him if you didn’t.”
    The steel of Danya’s sword hissed against the leather scabbard as she yanked her weapon free and pointed it at the driver. His eyes widened and he raised his hands, dropping the reins in his lap.
    “Where is he?” Danya demanded. “What have you done with him?”
    “Sold ‘em.”
    “To whom?”
    The driver shook his head. “Don’t know. It ain’t polite to ask the name of those buying the dead.”
    Danya stepped forward, the blade steady. The point hung in the air close enough to the man’s throat she could pierce it if she lunged, and the expression on his face suggested he knew it.
    “Who bought him?”
    The driver swallowed hard, the prominent lump in his throat bobbing. He shook his head slowly, then his gaze flickered to something beyond Danya’s shoulder. Her heart jumped.
    Be aware of your surroundings.
    Trenan’s voice spoke the words in her head, one of the many lessons he’d taught them.
    “Everything all right here, Zel?”
    The voice, deep and menacing, came from not far behind her and a pace or two to her right. She flicked her gaze over her shoulder and back, caught a glimpse of a long and tangled beard, the glint of sunlight on a short, curved blade.
    “No, it ain’t all right. This whelp’s got a sword at my throat.”
    “Want me to take care of that?” the deep voice asked.
    “Tell your friend not to move,” Danya said, forcing steadiness in her voice, “or he’ll have a corpse to sell on your behalf.”
    The man behind Danya laughed, the sharp, barking sound bursting through the morning air and drawing attention to them. She heard feet shuffle as others gathered; a smile crept across the corpse-merchants lips.
    “You might want to take a gander about,” he said, smirking. “We take care of our own here in Sunset.”
    Against everything Trenan ever taught her, Danya glanced back over her