“Yes, Modera,” everyone chanted.
Whitney motioned for Gentry to follow him and set off into town. Aquira swooped down from the roof of the stables and landed on Whitney’s shoulder. He scratched her neck with his knuckles.
“You know, for a fire-breather, you sure like rain,” he said.
She screeched in approval.
“Though, I guess you do have scales,” Whitney added.
Whitney and Gentry walked the town’s unimpressive streets, more mud than cobbles with all the rain. The place was quaint and not too busy. Despite what Modera said, making a killing would be as easy here as it was in Grambling. The town was filled with mostly the elderly, and mothers with too many children to deal with alone. Here too, war had robbed the place of most of its working-age men.
They better win at least, Whitney thought. He hadn’t a care for the wars waged by nobles and greedy men, but the Shesaitju deserved it for what they’d done to Troborough and Winde Port, not to mention all the other little villages like Oxgate. Slaughtering so many innocent people like sheep—savages.
Whitney searched for the best of several inns—which, again, wasn’t saying much. The Wildlands were a place for country bumpkins, like Troborough spread across an entire region.
The Five Round Trousers had ten rooms available—more than sufficient accommodations for the troupe. After confirming with the Pompares that it would meet their posh standards and negotiating a rate by promising that Whitney and Aquira would only perform in that inn, Whitney procured the rooms and had the owner prepare food. The long-bearded fellow’s eyes lit up like he hadn’t served so many paying customers in years.
Whitney took off water-logged boots and plopped down at a table by the inn’s hearth. The place was almost entirely empty save for a few haggard, toothless old-timers yammering about better days. Even though it wasn’t evening yet, Whitney didn’t expect it to get much better. Aquira curled up in a ball by his feet, nearly inside the fire.
“Shouldn’t we find spots to start earning?” Gentry said.
“We’ve been on the move for days, kid,” Whitney said. He slapped the table. “Take a load off; eat a bit. Modera loves me after all.”
Gentry’s eyes darted nervously from side to side as if the Pompares were watching. They weren’t. They were too busy in their luxurious carriage by the stables counting the gold Whitney’d saved them.
“C’mon, we’ll make a killing tonight,” Whitney said. “Work together again.”
“Fine,” Gentry said. “But no more ale.”
It didn’t take long for the rest of the troupe to file into the tavern since they weren’t always under the watch of the Pompares in a camp. Even performers needed some time to unwind. It was still early.
Whitney turned toward the hearth and breathed in the hot air. It felt good, drying Whitney after day’s worth of rain. As he turned away, he realized that they all smelled like mud and sweat after traveling. They all needed a hot bath, though, this wouldn’t be the kind of place they’d find one. They’d barely get hot food.
“Did someone order the shoe leather sandwich?” Whitney asked, spitting out a piece of the meat he was served.
“I’ve had worse,” said Benon, the lead actor in the plays the Troupe put on in the larger towns. The actors kept to themselves mostly, like acrobatics and feats of strength were below them—stuffy bastards.
“I bet you have too, huh, thief?” Conmonoc said. “You think I didn’t hear you with those guards? What’s dungeon food like?”
“Conmonoc!” Talwyn scolded. She didn’t sit at the same table as Whitney, but the one next to it, facing him.
“What? He said it.”
“He helped us pass,” Talwyn said.
“It’s okay, Tal,” Whitney said, taking a sip of ale. “Can I call you that? I’ve lived a long life for my age, and I’ve done things I’m not proud of. Then again, I’ve done plenty of things I’m damn yigging proud of too.”
“So, it’s true then? You’re a thief?” Talwyn asked. To his surprise, her eyes lit up like Whitney had just become even more desirable.
“Was a thief. And a yigging good one. I once stole the Sword of Grace—”
“This man is an admitted thief, and we still keep him around?” Conmonoc said, addressing any of the troupe who would listen. “Gives us all a bad name.”
“Please,” Whitney scoffed. “If Conny had been in charge of getting us lodging, we’d be in the stables sleeping on piles of shog.”
A few of the members of the troupe who weren’t busy with their own conversations laughed.
“I don’t have to take this,” Conmonoc said. “This is about him and his thieving ways. I bet he’s just waiting for his chance to rob the Pompares blind.”
“No, he only wants to reach Panping alive,” Gentry said, honest as ever.
“Sure.”
“Conny, why don’t you tell everyone what you did before joining the troupe?” Lucindur spoke up, apparently listening even though she was busy tuning her salfio.
Conmonoc actually growled and shoved his chair out before storming off and out the front door into the rain.
“That didn’t seem called for,” Benon remarked.
“I tire of his complaining,” Lucindur said.
Whitney took a bite of his… whatever meat it was. “So, what was it?” he asked through a mouthful.
“What was what?” Lucindur said.
“What was the sack of muscle doing before joining up?”
Lucindur looked to Benon and a few others. “It’s too late now, Lucy,” Benon said. “Or isn’t sharing secrets what you do?” He cleaned his mouth, pushed off and followed Conmonoc out the door. The rest of the actors joined him. Their act took the longest to set up anyway.
“Well, you can’t leave me waiting now,” Whitney said. “I told you mine.”
“I too would like to hear, Ms. Lucindur,” Gentry said.
She sighed, then started talking without any more prodding needed. Whitney now understood Benon’s accusation toward her. He also, with every day, was getting more clarity into all the little quarrels amongst the troupe. Modera and Fadra may have been tough, but without them, it seemed the troupe would’ve fallen apart in an hour.
“We found Conmonoc working for a man by the name of Valin Tehr,” Lucindur said. “Ever heard of him?”
“Who hasn’t?” Whitney said.
Nearly everyone who stuck around their tables raised their hands, mostly the younger members like Gentry who hadn’t been around long enough to know every detail about every member down to the way their breath stunk in the morning.
“Really?” Whitney said. “I figured he was famous all over. Guy runs all of Dockside and South Corner in Yarrington. A real no good shog. I heard he’s got some underground fight club where people can make money fighting against big, nasty… wait, shogging exile. Conmonoc was a fighter?”
Lucindur nodded.
“Exactly. He’s got some nerve harassing Whitney for his past when he himself was a killer!” Talwyn said loudly.
“Keep it down,” Lucindur admonished. “We don’t need the whole town knowing.”
“I doubt anyone in this cesspool cares,” Whitney said.
“He was such a good boy when he’d first joined,” Lucindur said. “So thankful to be a part of something that wasn’t illegal. Something, noble and of his own people.”
“What happened to him?” Gentry said.
“Some men can’t leave their pasts behind.”
“Nah,” Whitney said. “Men just do crazy things for love. Or go crazy.” He chuckled at his own joke.
“Love?” Lucindur and Talwyn said at the same time.
“Oh, please. Don’t you see it? The guy is sick over you.” Whitney pointed at Talwyn with his dinner knife.
Lucindur seemed appalled. Talwyn choked on a sip of water.
“Interested, maybe,” Lucindur said. “Like many others have been. But he’s not in love.”
“Suit yourself,” Whitney said, shrugging.
“Whitney, you did a fine job with this inn,” Lucindur said, changing the subject. “I thought for sure we’d be spending the evening in a barn.”
Whitney wasn’t used to being praised. He was more often the screwup. He just shrugged again and kept eating.
The barmaid approached Whitney’s table, clearing it of dirty plates. “Are you finished?” she asked Whitney, bending over lower than necessary and batting her eyelashes.
“With what I can stomach,” Whitney said, pushing the plate over.
“She’s up to something,” Talwyn said after the barmaid was gone. “I don’t like her.”
Lucindur smiled and regarded Whitney but kept eating. “Talwyn, why don’t you go to the tavern across the way, see if there’s more of a gathering. This is a great town to practice your return for the real show next month. Tired people are hard to entertain.
“I’m having fun here,” Talwyn argued.
“We’ve had a long day and an even longer week. Please don’t argue.”
“Fine,” Talwyn said. She stomped out of the tavern, and there was no mistaking the stares a few of the older townsfolk offered her as she went by.
“Speaking of, I guess it’s time we turn this place into the talk of the Wildlands?” Whitney said, patting Gentry on the back. “We’ll start out front, try and get people inside where Aquira can jump into the fun.”
Aquira let out a deep sigh as if in response.
“A fantastic idea, Mr. Fierstown,” Gentry said. “I’d rather not fall behind again.”
Gentry stood, and Whitney was halfway up when Lucindur said, “Whitney, do you mind if I speak to you alone for a moment?”
Whitney swallowed his suddenly dry throat. “But Gentry—”
“Is a far more experienced performer than you, young as he is. I’m sure he can handle things alone for a few minutes.”
Whitney gave Gentry a look, but it seemed to go right over his head.
“I can handle it,” Gentry said.
“Good. Great,” Whitney said through clenched teeth. How could the boy know about the kind of conversation that happens when a protective mother gets a chance to talk one-on-one with a man her daughter is spending too much time with?
“It’s down to us,” Whitney said to Lucindur. He chuckled nervously and retook his seat.
“So it seems,” she replied.
Whitney reached all the way across the table and pulled Benon’s untouched ale toward him. He took a healthy gulp.
“So, who is she?” Lucindur asked.
Whitney choked on the ale and said, coughing, “Who’s who?”
“The girl. My daughter is practically throwing herself at you yet you’re looking for a lightmancer. Who is it you wish to spy on?”
“Spy on? That’s absurd.” Whitney took another sip. “Just find.”
“Ah. The one who got away, then?” Lucindur asked, smiling.
“Not quite that either.” Whitney finished Benon’s ale. “I’m gonna need a lot more of these to talk about that.” As if the barmaid had overheard—which Whitney then realized she hadn’t ever strayed too far from their table—she brought two more pints and set them down.
“Thank you,” Lucindur said.
Whitney took another sip, then a bigger one.
“How’d you know?” Whitney asked, burping. Lucindur scrunched her nose in disgust but didn’t back down.
“When Talwyn was five years of age, I found her in front of our home taking silver coins from pink-skinned little ones in exchange for kisses,” Lucindur said. “The line of boys—and some girls—wrapped down the street.”
“And you let her?” Whitney said.
“Things are not so restrained where I’m from. Your priests say Iam wishes to spread his light, yet all of you cover up so… dutifully. When I discovered Talwyn’s line, I told her she was a fool not to charge gold.”
Whitney wasn’t sure how to respond, so he lifted his mug and bowed his head respectfully.
“You’re one of the few men we’ve ever come across who has shown no interest. Even fewer still whom she has shown interest in.”
“What can I say. I’m picky.”
“A thief, picky? This tells me that either you don’t fancy women…”
“That’s not—“
“…or, there’s someone else.”
Whitney ran his hand through his dirty blonde hair. “I’m still not sure there’s enough ale in this building to help me talk about it.”
“What if I told you I could show her to you?” Lucindur asked, leaning forward.
“I knew it!” Whitney said, slapping the table, upturning a goblet and making the tableware rattle. Several parties glanced their way. Whitney wasn’t sure when the shoghole had started to fill in so much.
“I knew it,” he said a little softer.
“I never said I was a lightmancer,” Lucindur said.
“And I never said there was someone else.” Whitney smirked.
Lucindur nodded her head appreciatively. “You will need to tell me a bit about her if I’m to help.”
“That simple? What’s the price.”
“No price,” Lucindur assured him.
“Please. There’s always a price with this troupe.”
“Perhaps. Yet, despite what you may think there is love between us all, even when we fight. You are troubled, Whitney Fierstown. You may not show it, but I see beyond the façade into the music of the mind.”
It was Whitney’s turn to lean in this time. “C’mon, Lucy. You’re not the only one who can see when someone’s hiding something.”
“My daughter fancies you and this troupe has been good to us in every way but for a man worthy of her.”
Whitney laughed. “Well, that ain’t me; trust me.”
“Maybe, maybe not, but I won’t be around forever to protect her. A man like you who can handle himself could keep her safe in the troupe. But you are intent on leaving for this other person, so I’d at least like to know why so that Talwyn may know the truth.”
“There we go,” Whitney said. “Honesty. Was that so hard?” Whitney lifted his ale and threw it back, and before he knew it, the mug was empty. He checked for the last few drops and clanked it down.
“Her name is… is Sora…” He had to force it out, realizing he hadn’t uttered her name to anyone after Elsewhere except for Aquira. Upon hearing the name, the little wyvern perked up and was up on an empty chair, staring at Whitney in a heartbeat.
“Sora what?” Lucindur asked, eyeing Aquira.
“Just Sora,” Whitney said. “She’s an orphan. Refugee after the Second or Third Panping War, I can’t keep track.”
“Ah, I see.” Lucindur frowned. “That makes it a little more difficult.”
“Shog,” Whitney swore.
Lucindur held up a hand. “Difficult, but not impossible. You should watch your language around women, especially those who are your elders.”
“Elders… you can’t be a day over thirty,” Whitney said, adding his own brand of charm.
“Yes… I surely was ten years of age when I gave birth to my daughter. Flattery stops working once the hairs turn gray, Whitney Fierstown. I’d have thought you’d know that by now.”
“I’m a slow learner.”
“What else can you tell me?” she asked.
“She and I grew up in Troborough after she was taken in by a healer. We were separated for many years but were reunited about six years—I mean six months ago.”
Lucindur raised an eyebrow. “Which was it? Years or months?”
You tell me, he thought.
“Months,” he said out loud.
“Where did you last see her?” Lucindur asked.
Whitney couldn’t very well say, “in Elsewhere,” or Lucindur would think he was insane. But that was the truth. He’d spent countless nights wondering if he’d hallucinated it all—everything—the years in Elsewhere with Kazimir, tending his parents’ f
arm. His father’s injury. The demon attack. Being surrounded by ghostly mystics calling out for Sora.
Now that he’d been on the road for a couple of weeks, he’d wondered if he’d imagined Torsten being blind since no gossipers spoke of a blind knight now in charge of guarding the Glass Castle. Whitney honestly didn’t know what to believe anymore.
“In Yaolin,” he lied.
‘“I take it you don’t plan to continue on to Glinthaven if you find her in Yaolin when we stop, then?” Lucindur asked.
“No,” Whitney admitted. Eyes on his pint. “Maybe. I haven’t really thought of what I might do after I find her.”
“So you saw her in Yaolin last? How long ago?”
“About a month.” As soon as Whitney said it, he realized all efforts to not seem mad had just gone out the window.
“You saw her in Yaolin a month ago, traveled to Yarrington, and now you are traveling back to Panping? Did you fly on the wings of dragons?”
“You have your secrets, lightmancer,” he said. “I have mine.”
To Whitney’s relief, Lucindur accepted his response. “Final question: Where in Yaolin did you last see her? Specifics help. Street names. Shop names. Anything you can remember.”
“It’s a bit complicated,” Whitney said. “I wasn’t exactly there with her.”
“Oh?”
“I saw her, in a sort of vivid vision.”
“A vision… like a dream?” Lucindur asked, skeptical.
“No, not a dream. I was awake. Too awake. I’m afraid the story is very long, and I honestly don’t think you’d believe me even if I told you.”
“I can bend light at the willing of my fingertips,” Lucindur said, wiggling her digits. “We have all night and plenty of ale. Why don’t you tell me your story so I might better assist you?”
“I…” Whitney glanced over at Aquira, who tilted her head and blinked her two sets of eyelids at him. He blew air through his teeth, then pushed away from the table. “I promised Gentry a joint show,” he grumbled. He wanted to tell her, tell someone, but knew anyone with half a brain would think he was crazy. He thought he was crazy.
Lucindur grabbed Whitney by the hand. “I think Gentry can handle himself.” She tapped her ear, then pointed to the door, where the sound of clapping and a few cheers could be heard. “Trust me.”
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