Nostrils went to work cutting up vegetables, roots, and strips of dried meat before tossing them into the water to boil. Occasionally, he would lift the ladle, blow, and stick his tongue to it, after which he would make a face and toss in a few more of the wild onions Ferrin had found while nosing around the stream.
Ferrin felt like his stomach was about to gnaw straight through his backbone. If the captain didn’t hurry up with his tasting, he was going to stuff him in the pot. Suri’s fascination with the pine cones and sticks petered out as the aroma wafted in her direction. She bounced up and down, pointing at the old kettle. “I want! I want!”
“It’s almost ready, Suri,” Nostrils said, dishing a small helping into a tin bowl for the little girl. “Let it cool first.” He dished out a separate bowl for Rae.
The captain poured Ferrin a good helping, and Ferrin barely had time to nod before the first slurp of hot stew washed across his tongue, sparking to life his long-shriveled taste buds. Having dined for the last few months on nothing more than stale bread and what tasted like week-old wash water, he thought the meager meal couldn’t have been better had it been served on gold dishes from the royal palace.
He swallowed, and the stew warmed his body the entire way down. He released a slow, satisfied moan as he leaned back against an old stump and continued dipping.
Nostrils seemed determined not to let Ferrin outdo him as he dished up a heaping bowl for himself and started shoveling it in.
Rae clicked her tongue with a disapproving shake of her head as she looked at the two men.
Ferrin, with his mouth stuffed to the brim, glanced over at an equally engorged Nostrils and shrugged. Without a second thought, they were back to the work of lifting spoon to mouth and back again.
Freedom had never tasted so good.
Chapter 3 | Ferrin
BY THE TIME FERRIN returned with another armload of wood to feed the fire, the meal had been cleared and Suri tucked into the blankets Rae had laid out for their bedding. He was thankful for the warmth. The sun’s passing had left behind a deep chill, as patches of fog were already rolling in.
Sitting on his own bedding, Ferrin closed his eyes, taking pleasure in the simple cracks and pops coming from the timber. The smell of the smoke and warmth of the blaze took him back to his shop in Rhowynn. He missed working the smithy, almost as much as he missed Myriah.
For the thousandth time, he wondered what his sister had done when she returned home to find the front room torn apart and him gone. Had she gone to the wielder council for help? How long had it taken Harlin to sweep in and rescue her? Ferrin ground his teeth as he stared at the flames. Harlin was the reason he’d been captured in the first place, betraying Ferrin in order to get closer to his sister. His thoughts darkened as they shifted to what he would do to the man once he returned.
A twig snapped in the woods on his right, and his dream vanished. He turned to study the shadows lurking just beyond their campsite. Nostrils turned as well. An itch clawed at the back of Ferrin’s mind. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was out there, watching, but after several long moments of nothing, he shrugged and turned back around.
“Tell me, Captain, how did you end up with the Black Watch?”
The light from the fire cast shadows across Nostrils’s face, accentuating his most prominent feature. Ferrin realized he really didn’t know anything about this man who had risked so much to help them escape. Azriel had said to trust him, and at the time, that had been good enough for Ferrin, but now he was risking more than his own life.
“Call me Myron. Some titles are best left in the past.” He stared at the fire a moment before saying anything more. “When you’ve been an armsman as long as I have, you don’t have much else to fall back on. I started out as a lancer in the Briston Corps in Duport, but after a while, one battle seemed to be no different from the next. So, I left.” Myron snapped the twig he’d been fiddling with and tossed it into the flames.
“I was making my way north when I ran into a troop of Black Watch at a small village I had stopped at. Seems they had some sort of wielder infestation.” Myron’s eyes widened, and he quickly raised his hand. “Sorry. No offense,” he said, gesturing at Ferrin and Rae, who was listening intently from her place beside Suri.
Ferrin waved the comment off, and Myron continued.
“Evidently, one of the locals had accused his neighbor of being a wizard, since for two years running the man’s crops had gone bad while his neighbor’s remained healthy. Of course, according to some of the other villagers, it probably had something to do with the man being about as lazy as a pack of pond turtles on a sunny day. But, as you’re well aware, the Black Watch doesn’t rightly care if there’s sufficient proof.”
Ferrin snorted. “I can certainly attest to that.”
“Yes, I bet you can. The funny thing is, not only did they arrest the neighbor with the good crops, they also arrested the one with the big mouth as well.” Myron chuckled. “Can’t say I felt all that sorry for him, though.”
Ferrin agreed. He would have loved to have seen Harlin arrested when they had come for him.
“Anyway, the one who’d turned in his neighbor tried to make a break for it.” Myron shook his head. “Ain’t that just like a greedy coward?” He spat at the fire and it hissed. “I wasn’t about to let that fool get away after what he’d done to the other fellow, so being the clumsy oaf that I am, I stumbled out from behind my tree, clutching a piece of firewood.” He shrugged again and smiled. “It wasn’t my fault the man ran face-first into it, now was it?”
Ferrin smiled. He liked Myron’s dry sense of humor.
Rae, stoic as always, simply grunted.
“Long and short of it is, they offered me stable work, and I accepted. The White Tower had always been known for keeping Aldor safe from magic. I figured, what better job to take than one where I got paid to make a difference?”
Ferrin could think of a few.
Myron undid his sword from his belt and laid it next to the folded blanket he was using for a pillow. “It wasn’t until I was in my second year and well on my way to making captain that I was first assigned to the Hall of Inquisition. My eyes were quickly opened. Up until then, I hadn’t let myself believe the rumors about what went on down in the lower parts, what they were doing to the prisoners.”
“And yet, you did nothing about it,” Ferrin said, suddenly feeling a twinge of anger as a rush of memories flooded his mind. Memories of his time on the rack with Cheeks, the cuttings, the stabbings, the burnings and breakings. He looked at Rae. She, too, seemed to be lost in thought as she stared at the flames, the whites of her teeth beginning to show as her lips curled.
Myron nodded. “I’m ashamed to say I turned a blind eye. I tried to find ways to justify what was happening. Even told myself the wielders were going to destroy Aldor and it was our job to stop them.”
This time it was Ferrin’s turn to snap a twig—more of a limb, really—as he tried to find a way to release his anger that didn’t involve him leaping on top of Myron and beating him senseless.
“No one wants to think of themselves as bad,” Myron said, face blank, head lowered. “I’m a hard man. Not proud of it, but not afraid to say it, either. There isn’t much these eyes haven’t seen, not with as many battles as I’ve fought. Men can do some pretty detestable things to each other in the name of war, but what I witnessed down there . . .” He visibly shuddered. “It had me too scared to even try leaving. Best thing that could have ever happened to me was talking with that seer friend of yours.”
Ferrin didn’t say anything. Myron sounded sincere in his shame, and it would be hard to overlook the fact that he had given up his previous life to join them as fugitives, but it was still difficult to hear what the man had been a part of. He remembered the unexpected shame he had seen at times in Myron’s eyes compared with the other guards, but forgiving those actions was going to take more than a bowl of stew and a single shared conversation.
“How about you, smith? What’s your story? Lot of rumors floating around the Tower about the man who couldn’t be broken.”
Ferrin leaned forward and hugged his knees. “I have a small smithy in the workers’ district of Rhowynn. Or at least, I had. Not sure now. It wasn’t much to brag about, but it brought in enough to get by.
“When I wasn’t much older than Suri there,” he said, pointing his stick at the now-snoring little girl curled up beside Rae, “I discovered I was different. My parents were dead, so my sister and I went to live with our aunt and uncle. When they discovered my ability, they sold me to a peddler named Pinon on his way to Briston.” He shrugged. “I’ve got nothing to complain about, though. My time with Pinon taught me the ways of the world. I quickly found out that he had a gift as well. He was able to manipulate people’s feelings through suggestion. He could persuade you to buy anything.”
Myron shook his head. “That’s a very powerful gift.”
“Yes, but he was very careful about how he used it. Pinon had strict rules about what he would and wouldn’t do. Don’t reckon most people would have been able to resist the temptation the way he did.” Ferrin knew he wouldn’t have been able to.
“Ain’t that the truth.”
“I’d asked him about it once, why he didn’t use it to sell more, but all he would say was that during a moment of anger, he had forced a feeling into someone’s mind, and before he could take it back, the person had killed themselves. After that, he was determined never to use his gift again, except under the direst of circumstances.”
Myron’s eyes were as wide as the gold buttons on his uniform. “I hadn’t thought about that side of it. Imagine what you could do with an ability like that. The people you could sway.”
“What happened to your sister?” Rae asked abruptly, prompting both men to turn and glance across the fire.
“She came with me. She couldn’t stand the thought of being separated, so when I left with Pinon, she chased us down.” Ferrin smiled. “We’ve never been separated since.” His smile faded. “Until now, of course.
“When I was old enough, Pinon used the last of his savings to purchase me an apprenticeship with a Rhowynn smithy named Ryneer. It was a perfect fit, and under his instruction I grew to love not only the work, but the metal. By the time Ryneer retired, I’d saved enough gold to purchase his business, which eventually gave me the opportunity to pay Pinon back.” Ferrin grinned as he thought of the old peddler, and his life in Rhowynn. “With the new smithy up and running, Pinon was able to retire and live out the rest of his days with us.” Ferrin sighed. “He died a few years back. Closest thing I ever really had to a father.”
After a moment of silence, Rae spoke up. “I’m sorry.”
Her reaction took him by surprise, and he smiled. “Thank you.” Noticing the dour expressions on their faces, Ferrin decided to change the subject. “It didn’t take long for the smithy to come into its own. Unfortunately,” he said, tucking a strand of red hair behind his ear, “being the impulsive lad that I was, I decided to start experimenting with my gift. I found I could not only forge the metal into whatever I wanted with just a touch, but I could actually change the properties of the blades into something that was more durable, sometimes nigh indestructible.”
Myron leaned forward. “What do you mean by ‘indestructible’?”
“Most blades scratch and nick and bend depending on the type and amount of use. Some even break. Mine don’t.”
Myron pulled his sword partway out of its scabbard and looked at the blade. “You’re telling me your blades don’t even scratch?”
Ferrin just smiled, then continued his story. “Pretty soon, people started coming from all around to get a blade done by this nobody smith in the worker’s district, and because I loved the attention and praise I was receiving, not to mention the extra gold, I kept it up. My sister warned me not to use my gift so openly. I thought I could hide it.”
“What’s your sister’s name?”
Ferrin startled once more and looked at Rae. “Her name is Myriah.”
“That’s a lovely name,” Myron said. “Sort of a womanly version of my own.”
Ferrin hadn’t considered it before, but they were similar—Myron and Myriah?
“What happened next?” Rae urged, clearly interested in the story.
“Let’s see. After I had decided to ignore Myriah’s warnings, I received my first big break. A commission by the High King himself.”
Myron, who had been slouching on his bedroll, sat up. “No fooling?”
Ferrin nodded. “The king wanted a special pair of swords constructed. A gift, I believe. He had two stipulations, however: the blades were to be unique, unlike any I had ever made, and he wanted me to craft them in a way that spoke of dragons.” Ferrin smiled, remembering the long hours spent dreaming up their design.
“Dragons?” Rae asked.
“Yes,” Ferrin said, not wanting to go into a lengthy explanation of what a dragon was if she didn’t know. “They were beautiful.”
“I’m sure they were,” Myron said.
“You can imagine the uproar that brought when the guilds realized they had been passed over in favor of a no-name smith. More unexpected, though, was that my betrayal didn’t come from a competing smithy but from someone I would have called a friend.” Ferrin tugged hard on his lengthening beard, letting the pain swell inside him. “Friend might be a little strong . . .”
Myron huffed. “There’s a special place in the abyss for murderers, rapists, and those who sell out their family and friends.” He paused a moment to think. “Come to think of it, there’s probably a special place in there for those of us who aided the White Tower in its crimes.” He shivered. “I can only hope I’m allowed a chance at redemption.”
“Redemption is the best we can hope for,” Ferrin said.
Myron nodded slowly, then turned to Rae. “How did you get mixed up in all of this?”
Rae gave Myron a hard stare, then grabbed her blanket, lay down beside Suri, and pulled it over her head.
Myron looked at Ferrin. “I reckon she doesn’t want to talk about it.”
Ferrin couldn’t help but smile. He knew how long it had taken him to coax her out of her shell far enough to acknowledge his existence. He figured it would be a while before she opened up enough to discuss her undoubtedly haunted past, especially with a man. After what she’d been through, he couldn’t blame her.
Myron stood and strapped his sword back around his waist. “Guess I’ll take first watch.”
“Wake me when you’re done,” Ferrin said, tossing a couple chunks of wood onto the fire and watching the sparks float into the canopy of trees overhead.
Myron nodded as he pulled on his gloves and buttoned up his overcoat. He grabbed an extra blanket out of one of the travel sacks, trudged off into the shadows, and disappeared from view.
Ferrin lay back on his blankets, listening to the popping of the flames. He wasn’t sure how much sleep he was going to get. He still couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched.
Chapter 4 | Ferrin
FERRIN WOKE WITH a start as a gloved hand pressed over his mouth.
“Shh.” The look on Myron’s face told Ferrin he wasn’t being woken for his turn at watch. “Wake up, smith. We have a problem.”
Ferrin bolted upright from his blankets. Judging by how little the fire had dimmed, he hadn’t been asleep long. Their pursuers must have traveled all night to catch up. How could he have been so foolish? He should have pushed them harder.
“Where are they?” he whispered as he snatched his sword up from under his bedding and scanned the trees. “How many?”
“It’s not the Watch.”
Ferrin wiped the sleep from his eyes. “Then what’s the problem?”
Myron held out his torch toward the western edge of the campsite. “There.” The entire front row of pine was glowing with yellow dots.
“Smoke and ash!” Ferrin lea
ped to his feet.
Rae, with Suri still half-asleep in her arms, slipped between the two men. “What’s happening?”
Ferrin turned and pointed toward the mountain face behind them. “We need to get to the rocks.”
“What are they?” Rae asked.
“Wolves,” Ferrin said.
“Red wolves, if you want to be exact,” Myron added. “Smaller than the grey, but more vicious.”
Ferrin slung a few of the travel bags over his shoulder and grabbed the horses while Myron lit another torch from the fire. The horses were prancing nervously as the deadly predators crept out of the shadow of the trees and into the campfire’s light. Myron was right; they were red wolves. Ferrin had seen some before during his travels with Pinon. They always ran in packs, which made them more dangerous.
Their fur glistened as they crossed out of the trees, white fangs bared.
Slowly, Ferrin and the others backed toward the larger rock behind them. Rae hugged close to Ferrin, clinging protectively to Suri.
The wolves moved in step with them, growling as they came.
“I’ve never seen wolves attack a full camp before,” Myron said. “Have you?”
“No. Especially not one with a fire still going.”
As soon as they reached the base of the mountain, Rae tucked Suri into a shallow crevice in the rock.
Ferrin dropped the bags and handed the horses’ reins to Rae. “Don’t let go, whatever you do,” he said. “We can’t afford to lose them.”
Rae hesitantly took the leather straps. She looked just as uncomfortable holding the horses as she did watching the wolves.
Ferrin raised his sword and followed Myron out to meet the creatures.
The pack stretched across the small clearing. Ferrin counted at least ten, lips pulled back as they snarled and barked. He tightened his grip on his sword. A couple of the wolves howled, sending bumps down both of his arms.
“The Black Watch aren’t looking so bad right now,” Ferrin said.
Plague of Shadows Page 3
