Moss Gate

by Alex Linwood

  The road evened out as they traveled further from the forest. Portia’s nerves were raw trying to hear any noise above the sound of the horse’s hooves. Even when leading it on the grass next to the road, the animal made a lot of sound. Truly it was an incredibly noisy beast. Part of her wished she had not found it. The two of them walking without the horse would have been much quieter.

  Lady Harper scanned the road in front while leading the horse, leaving Portia to watch out behind them. They had gone for some ways when Portia spotted a dark patch coming up on the road behind them. There were no woods or any other easy hiding spot nearby, so there was little choice but to wait for what was coming.

  As it drew closer, the outline of a caravan resolved. It was several wagons long.

  “Lady Harper, there are wagons behind us,” Portia said.

  Turning to look, Lady Harper’s face relaxed. “Bandits would not be so bold as to travel in a caravan. Let’s see if we can get a ride.”

  They flagged down the caravan. The lead horse whinnied and shied away from the small elf standing in the road. The driver called out in an irritated tone, “What ye want? Should not be out at night alone.”

  Portia could only agree with this. She licked her lips nervously. The driver did not seem friendly.

  “We were attacked. We ask your assistance in getting to town,” Lady Harper said.

  “Attacked, eh?” The driver looked around. Luckily, there was no place close by for ruffians to hide. Portia hoped this would reassure the driver. “Well, that’s nothing I want to know of. We’re running late.” He lifted the reins of the horses to move on.

  Lady Harper was undeterred. “Wait. I understand your concern.” She held out her hand with something in it. “Let me reassure you.”

  The driver did not flick the reins, instead bringing his attention back to Lady Harper.

  The elf walked around the side of the wagon and approached him with her hand held out. Finally, he put his hand out beneath hers. Coins clinked as they fell from Lady Harper’s fingers to his palm. He looked down and counted. “Ay, we all have emergencies. Hop in,” he said in a much more amenable voice, motioning to the wagon with his head.

  Portia tied the horse’s reins to the back of the wagon and climbed in with Lady Harper.

  A cold breeze passed over Portia and Lady Harper as the day’s heat evaporated towards the stars. Portia shivered. She pulled her pack close and tucked her arms in close to her body. She was too cold to sleep, so she looked for more bandits as the wagons rolled along. Lady Harper stared forward intently. The cold didn’t seem to bother her. Little seemed to bother the elf. Portia shivered harder and rubbed her arms vigorously.

  The moon was nearly overhead by the time they reached the small city. Its perfectly manicured lawns and well cared for houses shone under the strong moonbeams. As they pulled into the central square, Portia wondered if she was always going to enter Holne on the bed of a wagon.

  Chapter 7

  The wagons stopped on one side of the central square of Holne. It looked just like the last time Portia had been there, but she wasn’t surprised. It had only been a year or so since she had left Valencia as a homeless orphan. She wondered if the clothing shop she had stopped at was still there. Looking down at her blood-soaked clothes, the thought of new garments was appealing.

  They jumped down from the wagon and Portia untied the horse. Lady Harper dug a few silver coins out of her purse and gave one to the wagon driver and then looked for the train boss of the caravan. He was at the lead wagon inspecting the horses. Lady Harper approached him, but he rebuffed her when she held out her hand. A few words were spoken, and he finally relented. Taking the coin, he gave the elf a nod.

  “Why did you do that?” Portia asked, curious, when Lady Harper returned. “Didn’t you already pay?”

  “It never hurts to make more friends. The way things are going, we need all the assistance we can get. Think of it as paying in advance.”

  This made sense to Portia, although she’d never had enough coin to make friends that way before.

  Walking around, she realized her arms and legs ached. She had gotten stiff sitting in the wagon. Now her body complained painfully just from standing. She stretched her neck then looked around the square. The wagon drivers were leading their horses to the inn she had eaten at a year ago. They were staying there that night. A warm bed and a hot drink sounded good.

  Lady Harper seemed to be of the same mind. “Shall we find lodgings?”

  Portia nodded. She walked towards the inn, leading their own horse, when Lady Harper grabbed her arm. “The moonlight hid this before, but perhaps we should change. If we walk into that inn covered in blood, it might be difficult to obtain hospitality,” the elf said quietly.

  Portia stopped walking. She was conscious of the stiffness of her clothing from the blood. As bad as she was, Lady Harper was even worse off—her white jerkin was soaked in blood. And she was an elf. Portia wasn’t sure if that was as unusual in Holne as it was in Valencia. She had never seen an elf her entire life in Valencia.

  They changed behind a nearby building, taking turns keeping an eye out for any passersby. They were lucky they had not lost their packs. Portia shoved her bloodstained clothes into her bag. She was grateful she had brought a full change.

  Once done, they approached the inn. An ostler came to take the horse. Fortunately, the inn was not full, and there was room in the stable as well.

  The common room of the inn was just as packed as last time Portia had been there. They wove their way through the crowd to reach the innkeeper behind the bar. Conversation gradually subsided as the patrons noticed the presence of the elf. Lady Harper ignored their stares.

  Portia’s ears burned red as she tried to ignore them too. She swore she could feel their eyes on her face. As an orphan thief, the last thing she had wanted was to draw any attention to herself. Having everyone stare at her felt dangerous.

  The innkeeper was the same balding barman who had helped her when she had passed through before. He had been kind when she didn’t have enough money. She breathed a little easier at seeing his face. He smiled back at Portia. She wondered if he remembered her.

  They obtained rooms and paid for bathwater to be sent up, as well as their meal in a private parlor. It was an extravagance Portia had never experienced before. She hadn’t even known it existed until she heard Lady Harper negotiate for it. She’d only heard rumors that some lived like this. She never imagined she would experience such luxury. But after the long day’s events, Portia was grateful they would not have to eat in the common room. It was loud. And there were too many staring faces.

  Portia bathed first and then asked for fresh water to wash her clothes. The maid had wanted to take her laundry, but Portia winced at the thought of the servant touching her blood-soaked garments. It was hard enough for her to do it. She did not want to give a reason for gossip within the inn. It also felt uncomfortable to have another work for her that way. Once shoved into cold water, the stiff doublet and pants relaxed and unfolded, releasing the blood and dirt into the water. Portia hoped it would dilute enough to not give away that it was indeed blood.

  While she bent to do her laundry, her stomach growled. It had been a long time since her last hasty meal—the one taken in the woods. Unfortunately, she had no other dry clothes than those she had changed into in the alleyway. Gritting her teeth, she told herself there wasn’t much dirt or blood on those. By the time she had changed into them in the alleyway, the blood had already dried on her body. Only a few small black flecks were on the garments themselves.

  Portia swallowed back nausea, fantasizing about another set of clothing. A clean set. Not ones with flakes of blood from dead strangers. Her skin crawled with loathing as she pulled on the garments.

  She washed her hands again, more out of compulsion than anything else. No matter how much she scrubbed, she imagined she could still see the blood on her hands.

  Groaning, she stood and exi
ted to find Lady Harper in the private parlor.

  Blessedly, dinner came within minutes. It was simple but hot. Portia waited until Lady Harper helped herself and then loaded up her plate. They ate in silence.

  “So what shall we do?” Portia asked after finishing the last of the chicken on her platter.

  Lady Harper sipped on her wine. She leaned back in her chair, considering the question. “Rest well tonight. But don’t forget to lock your door. And your window. It may feel safe here, but those bandits were not normal bandits.”

  “I’m glad to not know what a normal bandit is like.” Lady Harper gave her a small smile that said she was not so lucky. She finished the rest of her wine without another word.

  Portia was exhausted. Her head bobbed. She was having a hard time staying awake.

  Lady Harper waved Portia towards her room. “Go. Go to bed. And don’t forget the locks. I’ll see what I can find out about those brands.”

  Portia did what she was bid. Laying her head on her pillow, she thought briefly that Lady Harper should probably not ask questions alone, but sleep overcame her, worries and all.

  The morning sun shone brilliantly through the wooden shutters, falling on Portia’s face. She awoke with a start. Throwing open the window coverings, she realized just how late it was. The streets were filled with people. It must have been market day. The noise coming up was oppressive—vendors hawking their wares, children calling back and forth, and the creaking of horses and wagons rolling by.

  Rumbling from her stomach told Portia that her body had not forgotten that market day meant eating. It was an association from long ago. The market days were the only days she occasionally got enough to eat. But only occasionally. Even the last year of eating well had not changed her body’s reaction.

  Dressing quickly, she then gathered her now-dry clothes and folded them and put them into her pack. Hopefully Lady Harper was up as well. If not, she would have to eat breakfast alone. She was too hungry to wait.

  She unlocked the door and exited to find the elf. Her room was down the hall from Portia’s. A maid looked up in surprise when Portia peered in. It was empty. Portia’s stomach tightened in a knot. Surely Lady Harper had not left her there.

  Relief flooded her when she found the elf in the private parlor, a sumptuous spread in front of her. She breathed out heavily, chastising herself for having jumped to such a bad conclusion.

  “I was wondering when you would rouse,” the elf said with a laugh. “I was beginning to think I was going to have to send someone in with a bucket of cold water. But then I remembered your door was bolted, and I had no choice but to wait.”

  Portia ignored the ribbing. She was too entranced with the impossible spread of food in front of Lady Harper. Throwing down her pack, she sat down across from the elf. She didn’t speak a word until she had filled her plate and taken her first bite of pastry. “You didn’t wait completely,” Portia said, eyeing Lady Harper’s plate of crumbs.

  Lady Harper laughed heartily at this. “Am I to take it that you would have?” Her eyes twinkled.

  There was no fooling her, Portia thought. She shook her head, eyes down, trying to keep from smiling.

  Lady Harper drank her coffee and waited patiently while Portia ate. Finally, when she slowed down, the elf cleared her throat. “I have not found any information about those brands.”

  Dread settled over Portia. She remembered about the diamond shapes burned into the bandit skin—the bandits who had killed the palace guards—and the rest of the elves. Suddenly the food in her mouth tasted bitter and dry. Struggling to swallow it, she sipped some water. Breakfast was no longer appealing. She pushed away her plate.

  “I’m sorry about your convoy… and the palace guards,” Portia said.

  A dark look crossed Lady Harper’s face. All mirth was gone. “I’m sorry too.” She narrowed her eyes at Portia. “Why are you apologizing to me? Do you know something I don’t? Are you somehow responsible?”

  Portia shook her head vehemently. “No. At least I don’t think so… I’m just sorry they all died.”

  “Our magic is strong, but we can’t revive victims. Once they’re dead, they stay that way. Which is too bad.” Lady Harper pushed away her cup. “And what do you mean ‘you don’t think so?’”

  Portia’s face turned red. “I don’t want to sound… I don’t know… arrogant, but bad things seem to happen to those close to me. To the people I care about. Or at least those that I’m around.” Embarrassment flooded Portia’s body. She sounded like a jerk who thought the world revolved around her. But that wasn’t it. Too many people around her had been hurt or even killed, and she was starting to be afraid to let anyone close.

  Lady Harper waved away Portia’s protest. “Bad things happen in this world. Don’t take everything so personally.” She rose and picked up her bag from its place on the chair by the fireplace. Portia stood up as well, grabbing her own bag. She looked back at the food left on the table. It felt odd to just leave it. That was something she had never done in her life. Food was too precious.

  Lady Harper followed her gaze. “I left orders for the remains to be wrapped. We’ll come back for it when we get the horse,” Lady Harper said. Portia turned to see her understanding expression. She wasn’t the only one who didn’t waste food.

  They exited to the bright morning sunshine.

  “Do you know where the guardhouse is?” Lady Harper asked.

  She looked around the square, eyeing the crowds of people. The interest was returned. Passersby—peasant and moneyed alike—stared at the small elf. Lady Harper was dressed in shades of blue. It was the same outfit she had been wearing when Portia met her in the palace. The flowing clothes were dramatic, but Portia suspected the interest was mostly in the presence of an elf.

  “I do not,” Portia said. She scanned for anything that might be a guardhouse. While doing so, she looked across the square to see if the clothier shop was open—the shop she had patronized when she had first passed through Holne. It seemed ridiculous, but somehow she felt that shop had brought her luck. Luck she could use now. But there were too many people in the square for her to see that far away.

  “Right. Let me go ask. I’ll check on the horse while I’m at it,” Lady Harper said, bounding back into the inn. She emerged a few moments later and pointed directly across the square.

  Portia’s heart raced at that. She was glad they would go in the direction of the clothing shop. She was too embarrassed to ask Lady Harper if they could stop in, but if they just happened to be walking by it later, that might be a different matter.

  They made their way through the crowd, their packs making it even more difficult to push through. Lady Harper led the way, not glancing at anyone. Portia hid a smile at the tiny elf making the townsfolk give way.

  The guardhouse was not what Portia expected. It was the most rundown building along the entire side of the square. It might even be the most rundown building in the entire town. The roof was faded and stained, the walls scuffed with plaster missing in places. The warped wood frames around the windows and door lacked paint. It did not look like it belonged in this otherwise well-to-do city.

  Lady Harper walked directly to the door and firmly knocked. There was no response. Using her fist this time, Lady Harper pounded on the door again. She continued pounding until the door flew open and a surprised guard nearly got a fist to the nose. “What ya want?” he asked, irritably.

  “I would like to speak to the captain of the guard,” Lady Harper said.

  “Oh, would you now?” He leaned against the doorframe, looking down at the small elf. He towered over her. “You make a lot of noise for such a tiny child.”

  “I’m an elf. Lady Harper of the Meadows.” Lady Harper put her fists on her hips and stared back at him. Portia held her breath as the two glared at each other. The test of wills attracted the attention of those walking by as well. The guard’s eyes flickered as he noticed the scene that was forming. People were stopping and
staring—their eyes going back and forth between him and the indignant elf. Lady Harper seemed to notice nothing.

  Finally, the elf won. The guard’s eyes slipped away to the side, and he spoke in a surly tone. “Fine. Wait here.” He slammed the door shut.

  Lady Harper turned back to Portia and winked.

  They waited. The building was not that large. The delay was probably intentional. In the meanwhile, the surrounding citizens grew bored and drifted away.

  Even after the last of the citizens had wandered away, Lady Harper did not react to the slight. She stood waiting patiently, so Portia did as well. She’d seen enough chest puffing as an orphan to understand this game.

  The door opened. A younger guard appeared—one who had a smile on his face. “Please, come in. I apologize for the delay.” This remark caused the original guard, who was now standing behind him, to scowl.

  They entered the guardhouse. The inside belied the outside: it was neat, clean, and well-maintained. There were several desks in the room, as well as a large table in the middle. The younger guard motioned for them to sit at the table. He sat facing them while the older guard leaned against the back wall, his arms crossed.

  “What do you want with the Haulstatt guards?” The faintly patronizing tone in his voice made the hair on the back of Portia’s neck stand up.

  “I am Lady Harper of the Meadows, as I told your compatriot. I am the leader of a convoy to the king and queen of Coverack. Difficulties have arisen on our return journey, so I must claim the prerogative of a guard to the Rocabarra border, per the provisions of the treaty between our two nations.” Her tone brooked no argument.

  The two guards stared at her. Their mouths were slightly open. Neither seemed inclined to do her bidding.

  “It is a matter of some urgency,” she added.

  The guard cleared his throat then said slowly, “This is not a place for pranks.” He stole a look at the elf’s ears and hesitated for a moment, then his face settled back down into an immovable visage.