Ayrion hopped down from the front seat and stretched, thankful to be standing on his own two feet again. He barely had time to straighten when Marissa dove off the front. He caught her in his arms, and she wrapped hers around his neck with a squeal.
“What are you trying to do, kill me?”
She giggled.
He attempted to untangle himself from her hold, but she hung on like a tick, forcing him to resort to more drastic measures: tickling.
She squealed again, laughing and begging for him to stop. Her little legs kicked against his thighs until, finally, her grip loosened, and she slid far enough to plant her feet on the ground. Her wooly hat had come halfway off in the process, so Ayrion knelt and pulled it back down over her ears, tucking the hair that had fallen in her face back under her cap. With her hand in his, they walked around to the back of the wagon to see what the others were doing.
“Place seems almost dead,” Tameel said to Bek. “You don’t think the plague has already reached this far, do you?”
Bek looked up the street. “Saeida’s a quiet town. The people pretty much keep to themselves. I think if the plague had reached this far, there would be a lot more evidence. When the people of Belvin started changing, it was noticeable.” He glanced up the street. “Keep an eye out all the same.”
Ayrion looked at the buildings lining the main road. Most of the shops appeared to be closed or closing. There were a couple of people outside, but the speed of their walk indicated they didn’t plan to stick around and chat.
“This town is new to me,” Tameel said, tucking his white hair up under his burgundy cap. “I don’t believe we’ve ever done any trading here before.”
“While we’re here,” Zynora said, looking at the chandlery, “it might be prudent to see about some extra supplies. I have a feeling that medicinal herbs are going to be at the top of our list, considering the insanity we are planning.”
“Aye, wife, that would be the smart thing.”
Zynora put her arm around Taylis. He was quietly staring at a couple of boys tossing some rocks at an old barrel between two of the buildings. “I’ll take the kids and Nell with me. You men go see about finding us some lodging. We’ll meet you back at the wagons afterward to discuss how we’re going to talk these good folks into risking their lives to hunt down their neighbors.” She quirked a brow with a smirk.
Tameel nodded, then gestured to Bek. “Lead the way, my friend. You’re the only one of us who’s actually been here before.”
Ayrion handed a very upset Marissa off to Zynora, then grabbed his swords from the back of the wagon. He had his arm in the first strap when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“That might not send the best message, my friend,” Bek said.
Ayrion thought about it a moment, then shrugged. “Could be right.” He unhooked the straps and placed the two swords back inside. Instead, he opted for a long dagger that could be hidden beneath his black coat, and a single broadsword sheathed at his side. He closed the wagon door and looked at his horse. “Keep an eye on things while we’re gone.”
The stallion stomped its hoof.
Ayrion smiled. “I couldn’t agree more.” Whatever the bond was between him and the horse, he found it comforting. A connection to his former life. Leaving the wagons in the capable care of his horse, he ran to catch up with the others.
Chapter 40 | Zynora, Ayrion
THE BELL ABOVE THE door rang as Zynora stepped inside the chandlery and ushered the two kids in with her. Her charms swung loosely from the brightly colored band around her head, making a soft jingling as they bounced against each other.
The inside of the shop wasn’t much warmer than the outside. A short potbelly stove in the corner did little more than keep the place smelling of soot. The owner wasn’t around, so Zynora set about perusing the shelves.
She and her husband had done rather well for themselves, scavenging through the aftermath of the battle near Belbridge. Along with the coin they had found while rifling through the pockets of the dead, they had gathered quite the haul of weaponry to sell. But considering the chandlery’s half-empty shelves, Zynora could see that having enough coin wasn’t going to be the problem.
“There’s some wilted plants over here,” Nell said as she picked through a few items against the side wall. “Is this what you’re looking for?” She was wearing one of Tameel’s less-colorful caps to hide the fact that she had no hair on her head. Zynora’s magic might have healed the darkness, but it hadn’t given Nell her hair back.
Zynora was halfway across the shop when she heard shuffling from the back. An elderly man hobbled through an open doorway. “We don’t serve your kind here,” he said with a deep scowl.
Zynora ignored the prejudiced imbecile and continued shopping. It wasn’t the first time she’d been told that. Although it didn’t happen as much in Sidara.
The man pointed at her with his cane. “I’m talking to you, old woman.”
“Old?” Zynora spun around. “You’re one to talk!”
“They’re with me,” Nell said as she stepped out from around one of the shelves.
“I don’t care who they’re with. You get her and those thieving little purse snatchers out of here before I show you the backside of my cane.”
Zynora’s patience had reached its end. “You just try to lay a hand on me, you withered-up goat, and I’ll put a curse on you that’ll hump your back and shrivel your . . .” She almost finished her threat before remembering the children.
The old shopkeeper’s eyes bulged, but he kept whatever vile retort he was about to offer to himself. A lot of the smaller villages they had dealings with believed that the Nathillian and the Rhivanni were worshipers of the Dark One and would put hexes on you if you got them angry enough. As ridiculous as the notion was, it did help with bartering. Who wanted to haggle with someone who might turn you into a bog toad?
Seeing they weren’t going to receive decent service, Zynora led them back outside and purposely left the front door open behind them. Zynora shrugged when Nell looked at her. “The lout can clearly use some cold air to temper his attitude.” She directed them back to the wagons. “I hope the men are faring better than we are.”
“I told you, we don’t serve rovers in here,” the heavyset man behind the bar said, waving a dirty dishtowel at Tameel. “We don’t want your kind soiling the decent folk of our town.” Everyone in the room stopped to look in their direction.
Ayrion leaned in to Bek. “What was that about giving the wrong impression?”
Bek looked befuddled.
“Would it help to explain that I’m not actually a rover?” Tameel mumbled before finally raising his hand. “My apologies.” He donned his friendliest smile. “I meant no offense.” He spared a passing glance at Ayrion and Bek and turned for the door. “Good luck. I have a feeling you’re going to need it.” Tameel wrapped his long colorful cloak up around his shoulders and walked out the door, leaving Ayrion and Bek to face the tavern’s patrons on their own.
Ayrion could see this was going to be more difficult than he’d thought. Feeling for the dagger under his black leather coat, he followed Bek through the crowded room. Sharp eyes from every table tracked them as they headed for a long piece of polished oak in the back corner, where there were still a few empty stools available. The tavern was thick with the smell of unwashed bodies, strong ale, and smoke.
On their left, a stone hearth spread light and warmth across the room as a lanky boy, maybe thirteen years of age, stood beside the fire, turning a few cuts of meat on the spit. The meat smelled wonderful compared to the rest of the room, but they weren’t there to sample the food. They needed to find shelter for the night, and after seeing the people’s reaction to Tameel, Ayrion couldn’t help but feel they were wasting their time.
Ayrion took the free stool next to Bek, and the round-bellied owner stared at them from his side of the overly polished wood. “The name’s Abiah. What will it be?” he asked as he looked the
two over. His gaze lingered on Ayrion. The taverner had probably never seen someone dressed in black leather.
“You sick?”
“What?”
He pointed at Ayrion’s face.
Ayrion had forgotten about his eyes.
“No.”
Abiah stared a moment longer, then looked at Bek.
Bek rested his elbows on the bar as he considered the bottles lining the shelf behind the taverner. “I’ll have an ale,” he said.
Abiah wiped the few strands of hair still covering the top of his head. “We only have dark.”
“That’s fine. I’m not choosy.”
“I didn’t catch your names.”
“That’s because we didn’t give them,” Ayrion said.
Abiah looked back at Ayrion and pursed his lips. “I guess you didn’t. So, what will it be?”
“Make mine a cider.”
The barkeep laughed, as did a couple of patrons sitting nearby.
Ayrion didn’t much care. He needed to keep a clear head.
“Cider it is, then,” Abiah said with a disgusted grunt. He grabbed a couple of wooden tankards and blew off the rims. Wiping the insides with the front of his apron, he walked over to a stack of tapped kegs and filled their orders. “That’ll be six,” he said, returning with their drinks. He waited to see their coin before releasing the drinks. When he got a look at the size of Ayrion’s purse, he added, “Six . . . each.”
“What kind of robbery is this?” Bek asked, coming partway out of his seat.
Ayrion laid a hand on the big trapper’s arm. “It’s fine.” He turned back to the taverner. “But I’d say that prices like this should afford some information as well, don’t you think?”
Abiah spent an uncomfortable moment staring into Ayrion’s eyes before nodding toward an empty table in the back. “I’ll be with you shortly.”
“What was all that about?” Bek asked, following Ayrion to their table.
“We’re going to need to be able to communicate with these people. Whether we get room and board or not, we still need their help in fighting those creatures.”
Bek sat down across from Ayrion. “I don’t know.” He scanned the room. “These folks look more willing to stick a knife in us than the vulraaks.”
Ayrion couldn’t argue there. “Unfortunately, we don’t have much of a choice. We can’t allow Argon to wreak havoc across Sidara.” Ayrion took a swallow of his cider. It had a strong aftertaste of soap, which Ayrion hoped meant that the mug had been recently cleaned.
The two watched as Abiah refilled a few more tankards before calling to the skinny kid at the spit to take over behind the bar. He weaved through the packed room, offering small bits of conversation on his way to their table. Taking a seat at the end, he leaned forward and rested his forearms on top. “So, what’s all this talk about information?”
Bek spoke first. “Has there been any word from Belvin lately?”
Abiah’s gaze shifted from one man to the other. “You rode all the way into Saeida to ask about Belvin? Belvin ain’t but a few hours’ ride to the north. Go find out for yourself.”
Ayrion laid his tankard down. “So, no one has either come or gone from Belvin in the last week?”
Abiah’s brows began to weigh heavy over his brown eyes. “Better be getting to your point, and fast. I have a tavern to run and don’t have time to waste on a couple of crazed fools.”
Bek looked at Ayrion. “They haven’t made it this far yet.” There was a hint of relief in his voice.
“They . . . Who’s they?” Abiah asked.
“The vulraaks,” Bek said.
“The vul—what? What flaming nonsense are you two going on about?” Abiah pushed back from the table. “I’ve had enough of this. Finish your drinks and be gone.” He started to rise, but Ayrion and Bek both reached out, grabbed an arm, and pulled him back down.
“What’s this?” he demanded.
“We’re serious,” Ayrion said as he glanced over Bek’s shoulder at the nearby tables where heads were now turning in their direction. A single glare from Ayrion and the men went back to their own business. “We just came from Belvin. Well,” he corrected, “outside of Belvin.”
“I have a small place northeast of town,” Bek said.
“Good for you. Now let me go.”
“About a week ago, something happened to the townsfolk. They started changing.”
Abiah stopped trying to pull free. “Changing? What do you mean changing?”
“It was small at first. They grew impatient over the littlest things. People who were quiet and timid were suddenly angry and ill-tempered. Some who’d never raised their voice against another were openly hollering and fighting in the streets—”
“Ha!” Abiah leaned back in his seat and laughed. “Sounds like Saeida after an especially long winter. So, a few people got upset; what’s that got to do with anything?”
“If that’s where it stopped, I wouldn’t have been so concerned, but that was just the beginning.”
Abiah stopped laughing.
“By the end of the week, the town had gone completely mad. The people had begun to change physically as well. They started growing fangs and claws, their eyes turned black, and their skin whitened. They wouldn’t come out—”
Abiah slapped the top of the table with both hands. “What do you take me for? Do I look that gullible? This stops right here. Whatever you’re sellin’, I ain’t buyin’.”
“I’m not trying to sell anything,” Bek said desperately. “My own wife tried to kill me!”
“I can see why.” Abiah stood, his belly pushing the table farther against the wall as he rose. “Now, if you two don’t get out of my place, I’m going to have you thrown out.”
Ayrion turned around. All eyes were on them.
“Take your rover scum and peddle your stories in some other town. You’re not welcome in this one.”
Ayrion stood and followed Bek to the front door. He scanned the rough faces as they passed, keeping an eye on their hands. To Ayrion’s surprise, they managed to make it to the door without a scuffle. Once outside, he adjusted his coat against the cold wind whipping down the street and started for the other end of town. “Well, that could have gone better.”
Ayrion and Bek joined the others and, after a quick conversation, climbed back in the wagons and left. They circled them within the tree line on the outskirts of town, using the forest as a breaker against the frigid gusts whipping across the valley between them and Saeida.
“What now?” Nell asked as they huddled in a circle around the campfire.
Tameel took a bite of his stew and sighed. “Guess we head to the next town and pray for better luck.”
“I’m thinking that maybe we find you two some different clothing,” Bek said as he blew across the top of his bowl before sipping the broth. “We’re already fighting an uphill battle. It would be a whole lot easier if they didn’t think we were another caravan of rovers. To be honest,” he said, scratching his head, “I’m a little surprised by their behavior. I’ve never known the wood folk of Sidara to treat Nathillians this way.”
“You haven’t traveled very far, then,” Tameel said. “It’s becoming more rampant of late. With the ever-increasing presence of the Black Watch inside Sidara, more and more communities have shut their doors to strangers. Even us tinkers are finding it harder to attract customers.”
Zynora nodded in agreement as she encouraged Marissa and Taylis to eat their food.
“I’m proud of my Rhivanni heritage,” Tameel said, “and I won’t change my appearance just to appease a group of backward fools. At the next town, perhaps Mother and I should keep the wagons out of sight and watch the kids while the three of you ride in and meet with the people.”
“You can’t help people who don’t want to be helped,” Zynora said.
Bek lowered his spoon. “Are you saying you wouldn’t be willing to put on a different set of clothes if it meant saving an entire town
from annihilation?”
Tameel stared at the thin soup in his bowl, then looked at Zynora. “I guess we’d be willing to do that.”
“How close is the next town?” Ayrion asked, anxious to move the uncomfortable topic along. He wanted to make sure they had a plan in place before any action was taken. “Which direction should we take?”
“Northeast,” Bek said, pointing off behind where Ayrion was sitting. “Estermill is another little town about a half day’s journey from here. If we leave in the morning, we should be there by early afternoon.”
Tameel lifted his bowl and drained what was left. “Good,” he said, wiping his chin. “Estermill it is, then.”
After the meal dishes were cleaned and the fire stoked, the small band of travelers turned in for the night. Tameel and Zynora slept in their wagon, and Nell took Taylis and Marissa with her. Ayrion and Bek volunteered to pitch their bedding by the fire and keep watch in case the friendly people of Saeida decided to pay them a visit.
Marissa had wanted to stay with Ayrion, but it was far too cold for her to be out in the weather.
Bek took first watch, giving Ayrion the chance to catch a few hours of sleep before his turn. He had just managed to doze off to the sound of the fire when something woke him. Sitting up, he cocked his head and listened. He thought he had heard something, or had it been another nightmare?
There it was again. A faint cry.
Was that a wolf? He stood and walked to the edge of the camp and waited. This time, there was more than one sound, and they were growing. The hairs on his arms stood on end.
It wasn’t howling. It was screaming!
Ayrion was already halfway to the wagon when the back door flew open and Tameel and Zynora stuck their heads out. “What’s going on?”
“It’s Saeida!” Bek shouted, charging back into the camp behind them. “They’re under attack!”
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