Liars and Thieves (A Company of Liars short story) by Karen Maitland Page A

hopelessly thin shoes, but the cloth was now so heavy and slippery with mud, she could scarcely lift her feet high enough to take a step. I could see she was exhausted, but was too afraid of Zophiel’s sharp tongue to admit it.
    ‘Wait, Zophiel. Adela needs to rest  . . . and so do I,’ I added hastily, seeing his thin lips curling in contempt.
    ‘If she can’t even keep up with a lame horse, then she should rest here permanently. If we have to keep stopping for her, it’ll be dark long before we reach the next village, never mind get back to the wagon.’
    ‘We can’t leave her here alone in the forest. Besides, we all agreed if the villagers have any food left, they’re more likely to take pity on a woman heavy with child and sell it to her than to you or me,’ I told him.
    As we caught our breath, I stared along the track ahead of us. It sloped downwards between trees and thick tangles of brambles. It wasn’t a steep incline, but a large pool of water had accumulated in the dip. I hoped it wasn’t too deep for we’d have to go through it. We’d never coax Xanthus through those thorns.
    Zophiel jerked on Xanthus’s reins once more, but it took a whack from the switch to get her to move. She was plainly no more eager to wade through that icy water than we were. Though it was barely midday, under the trees and leaden winter sky the forest was as gloomy as twilight in a graveyard.
    Without warning, Xanthus let out a shrill scream and one of her legs gave way beneath her. She jerked her head violently, tearing her reins from Zophiel’s hands, and kicked out. I twisted away from the flailing hoof and my feet slipped from under me. I must have shrieked louder than the poor horse as I hit the ground and felt an agonising pain shoot through my shoulder.
    Winded by the fall, it was several moments before I could even think of trying to move. I eased myself into a sitting position and gingerly touched my left shoulder. It was so painful, I was convinced I’d smashed the bone, but my fingers closed over a sharp spike of metal embedded in the flesh. Gritting my teeth, I wrenched it out and felt the hot gush of blood down my back.
    I stared uncomprehending at the lump of iron in my hand. My brain was fogged from the shock and pain, so it took several moments for me to register what I should have recognised instantly. It was a caltrop, a metal ball with four long sharp spikes pointing out from it at different angles, which meant that however it landed when thrown, three spikes would sit firmly on the ground while a fourth always pointed directly upwards, ready to sink deep into any hoof or foot that stepped on it.
    Xanthus was standing with her front leg bent, resting the edge of the hoof on the ground. She was trembling and whinnying in distress as Zophiel tried to calm her, running his hand down her leg. Evidently one of these foul things had been driven into her hoof. Wincing at the pain in my shoulder, I tried to summon the energy to get to my feet, but I was dizzy from the blood loss and a wave of nausea engulfed me every time I moved my head. Adela waddled round and tried to squat beside me in the mud, pressing the hem of her own skirts over the wound. Her face blanched at the sight of the blood.
    ‘God’s teeth, what kind of man would leave those things  . . .?’ I began.
    Even as I said it, I realised that they had not been dropped on to the track by accident. I tried to scramble up, but it was already too late. Before I could prise myself up any further than my knees, a stinking sack had been thrown over my head and pulled down over my arms, pinning them to my sides. I heard both Adela and Zophiel cry out and guessed that they too had been caught.
    A length of cord was rapidly twisted around my arms and shoulders. I yelped as it was pulled tight, biting into the wound on my shoulder. Hands hauled me to my feet and I found myself being pushed face-down over the back of an animal; not Xanthus, a smaller