Abiah laughed. “You think a single person in here is going to close their eyes and go to sleep?”
Ayrion studied the wide-eyed faces of the Saeida townsfolk. “Guess not.”
Chapter 44 | Lenara
SYLAS HAD KEPT THEM MOVING continuously since they had left the White Tower, with barely a moment’s rest. The inquisitor was on a mission. He made no effort to hide his feelings and even kept Lenara up most nights, spouting off the many ways he’d make the smith and the healer pay once they caught up with them. Sylas had been humiliated, strung up on his own rack for all to see. Worse yet, he’d been murdered by the only woman he’d ever cared about, if you could call what he felt for her caring.
Lenara certainly didn’t.
Sylas had lost something, or more accurately, something had been taken from him. His pride. And nothing short of death would stop him now.
That evening, Lenara sighed as she laid her head back on her blankets and stared up at the stars through the branches overhead. Sylas had finally dozed off after another long-winded speech about how he was going to make Ferrin and Rae pay, finally leaving her alone to her own thoughts.
She couldn’t help but wonder again why she’d been saddled with accompanying Sylas in the first place, other than the fact that Valtor was clearly punishing her for her failure to retrieve the faeling child the first time. She should be the one going after him. None of the bulradoer had spent as much time studying the prophecies about his coming as she had.
She was the one who had discovered the child’s arrival, the one who had brought this information to Valtor, and one of three bulradoer who had been tasked with finding him. Now, instead of being allowed to pursue this rare creature, she had to endure the insufferable rantings of a madman. The only bearable aspect to this whole journey was Joren’s occasional appearance.
The young guard’s presence was still a mystery. Both men’s consciousnesses shared the same body, but Sylas’s seemed to be the more dominant. Why? Was it solely the magic, or was it simply that Sylas was stronger? The only time Joren made an appearance was after Sylas had fallen asleep, which would seem to support her earlier theory that Sylas was the more dominant, but once his consciousness was at rest, Joren then became stronger. If that was the case, then why didn’t Joren show up every night?
Lenara groaned. She hated puzzles. Grabbing her blanket, she pulled it up to her chin and closed her eyes. She had just managed to doze off when something rubbed her shoulder. She opened her eyes with a start. Sylas was kneeling beside her bedding. She didn’t say anything, unsure of who she’d be addressing.
“Where are we?”
“Thornwood,” she said, guessing by the confusion in his soft brown eyes that it was Joren. But she wasn’t sure. “Is there something you need?” A safe-enough question no matter who she was addressing.
“How long has it been?”
“How long has what been?”
He looked around cautiously at the other guards. “Since . . . the last time.”
She sat up. “It’s been six days.”
“Oh,” he said, his smile slipping as he sat down beside her. “That long? Are we still chasing those same people?”
She nodded.
“I had a strange dream,” he said. His breath steamed in front of his face as he pulled his white mantle tight around his shoulders.
“Oh?”
Joren nodded. “You were in it,” he said, bringing a slight flush to her cheeks. “You were talking to me about birds.”
Lenara blinked. “I was talking to you about . . . birds?”
“Yes,” he said with an emphatic nod. “I was telling you that I could talk to birds.”
Why would he be dreaming about . . . She raised her head. The corax. This was a new development. Some part of him was aware of what was going on. But how much?
“In my dream,” he said, “I could talk to them. Even control them.”
“What did it feel like?”
“I’m not sure I can explain it. It was so real. I could actually hear their thoughts in my head.” The fire cast shadows across his face, honing his already sharp features. “It was as clear as the conversation we’re having right now.”
It was the first time she’d seen him smile. There certainly wasn’t much to be jovial about, but it was nice to see, anyway. “Tell me something about yourself,” she said. It had been a long time since she had sat and talked with anyone. Sylas talked at her. In the Tower, she spent most of her time either studying magic or researching ancient histories. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had an honest conversation with another person that didn’t involve her work.
“What do you want to know?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Where are you from?”
“Cylmar.”
“What part?”
“Ecrin. It’s on the western side of Lake Nari.”
“Yes. I’ve been there before.”
Joren’s head lifted. “You have?”
“A couple of times when I was a little girl.” Memories of her family began to resurface, memories she hadn’t thought about in years. And for good reason. “My family lived in Erast.”
“Erast?” A guard at another fire grunted and turned over, and Joren lowered his voice. “You’re Cylmaran as well?”
She nodded. “My father traveled to Ecrin once a year to sell hides. My sister and I would usually go with him.” She smiled. “I remember thinking how big the city was.”
“You have a sister?” he asked. “I have two brothers. Both older.”
Lenara nodded. “Her name was Viena.”
“Was?”
She turned and looked at the fire, doing her best to hold back the flood of memories she had carefully dammed away over the years. “She’s dead.”
“I’m sorry.”
“In a way, my sister is the reason I became a bulradoer.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Really what?”
Lenara turned and found herself staring into a different pair of eyes. They were no longer soft or caring, but hard and determined.
“What were we just talking about?” Sylas asked, looking quite puzzled at the fact that he was sitting with Lenara instead of sleeping in his bed.
Lenara’s mind raced frantically to cover for Joren. “I was just asking whether or not you had heard anything new from the corax.”
He looked up at the sky, still trying to figure out what was going on. “They say we’re close. Maybe a day out. If we maintain this pace, we should overtake them somewhere around Iraseth.”
“Any guess as to where the smith is going?”
Sylas turned his gaze northward and smiled. “Home.”
Chapter 45 | Ferrin
“THIS LOOKS AS GOOD a place as any,” Ferrin said as the four reined up in front of what might have been the nameless town’s only tavern. It was hard to tell with rain coming down in sheets and no visible sign out front.
It had been nearly a week since Suri had first spotted the unnaturally large reptilian birds. They had taken a keen interest in the small group, keeping to the skies during the day and the shadows of surrounding trees at night. Whether he could see them or not, he could feel them. That sensation of dread had him pushing his small caravan all the harder.
Rae had been using her healing to keep the horses moving as they traveled night and day without sleep, adding as much distance between them and those that were following as they could. When she had collapsed from exhaustion that afternoon, Ferrin finally agreed to stop for the night.
“Here, give me your hand,” he said, helping Rae dismount. Her legs and arms were shaking under their own weight. Surprisingly, she never complained. Most likely because she knew what would happen if they were caught. Still, he wondered if he was pushing them too hard.
Ferrin helped her to a bench on the covered porch and then took a step back to shake the water from his lengthening beard and matted hair. His beard w
as every bit as red as his hair. He’d never let it grow this long before. Leaving her on the bench, he ran back out into the rain for Suri, who was tucked up under Myron’s heavy cloak.
“I’ll stable the horses,” Myron said, handing the little girl down to him.
Ferrin carried Suri to the porch. “We’ll see you inside. I need to get them out of this rain.”
Myron nodded and guided the horses around back.
“Can you walk?” Ferrin asked Rae.
She grunted as she pushed up from the bench. Her steps were unsteady, but she managed to reach him.
With Suri in one arm and Rae leaning against the other, Ferrin opened the tavern door and stepped inside. The heat was welcoming, as was the scent of cooked food. As hungry as he was, it could have been a pot of goat entrails and it would have smelled like a feast fit for the king.
A smattering of tables dotted the open floor. Every stool and barrel-top seat in front of the long bar at the back was filled. Smoke hung in the air like an early-morning fog rising above the tables.
Ferrin shut the door, and all heads turned in their direction. The room quieted, save for the periodic creak of a wooden chair, as the crowd studied the three waterlogged travelers.
He scanned the dirty, tired faces of the patrons. Quite the gruff-looking lot. “Evening,” he said with as friendly a smile as he could muster.
No one replied.
A set of double doors swung open at the back, and a short, stocky woman stepped through. She wiped fallen strands of brown hair behind one ear, leaving behind white streaks of flour that blended with the splashes of grey. She patted the front of her apron and gave them an appraising look. “What’s your business here?”
Ferrin cleared his throat. “We’re not quite sure where here is.”
The woman started laughing. “Son, if you don’t know where you are, then you’re a far sight more lost than you know.”
Ferrin didn’t doubt it. Having spent the last week traveling deer trails through some of the thickest woods he’d ever encountered, it was a wonder they’d managed to find any civilization at all. “We’re hoping to find shelter for the evening.” He sniffed the air. “And some food for our rather empty bellies.”
“Well, I can’t rightly say this is the best place for your missus and little girly,” the woman said, “but take a seat.”
Rae dug her fingers into Ferrin’s arm. “I’m no one’s missus,” she said, and released his arm to stand on her own.
Ferrin wanted to shake his head and laugh but was afraid of her reaction if he did.
The tavern owner looked as though she wasn’t sure who to address. “Well, either way, we don’t have overnight accommodations, ’less you don’t mind bunking in the stable with your horses.” She looked at Ferrin inquiringly. “You do have horses, don’t ya, son?”
“Yes, ma’am, that we do.”
She nodded and wiped her hands back across the front of her apron. “I guess I could rustle up some vittles and a few spare blankets for the woman and the little one.”
“Mighty kind of you, ma’am.”
“No need for the ma’am. The name’s Layna.”
Ferrin nodded. “Thank you, Layna.”
“Well, don’t just stand there,” she said, waving her arms in a shooing fashion. “Go find yourselves a table, and I’ll be right with you. What are the rest of ya gawkin’ at?” she asked, casting a stern gaze across the room. “Like you ain’t never seen a stranger round these parts before.”
Ferrin thought they probably hadn’t, judging by their expressions. He helped Rae and Suri to the table closest to the hearth, and the crowd slowly went back to their drinks or food and gossip.
Layna returned with three mugs and a pitcher with steam rising from its top. “Some cider to warm the bones,” she said, filling their glasses to the brim.
“We have one more,” Ferrin said. “He’s seeing to our horses.”
Layna cast a wary glance at the nearest tables and then leaned in a little closer. “I don’t want to sound harsh, but you do have coin for this, don’t you, son? You understand, of course, I can’t afford charity.”
“We have plenty,” Rae stated as she stared desperately at the steaming drink in the woman’s hand.
Ferrin coughed. “Yes . . .” he quickly added, trying not to look at Rae. “We can cover our stay and the meal.”
Layna just smiled and swiped the same strand of hair back over her ear. “Well, that’s good to hear. Don’t want to be wasting good food on those who can’t pay. Times be tough nowadays; can’t be too careful.”
Ferrin watched with a smile as Layna finished filling Rae’s mug before finally leaving the pitcher on the table and heading back to the kitchen. She stopped at a few tables along the way to talk with customers.
“Best not to mention that we have coin to others,” he said.
Rae shrugged and took a sip of her drink. “Why?”
Ferrin glanced around the room. “We never know who we can trust.”
She didn’t say anything more, not even a simple head-bob to let him know she understood. She simply continued to raise and lower her mug, looking over at Suri every now and then to make sure the little girl was doing fine with her own drink.
Ferrin took a deep swallow himself. The warm cider went down smooth. It was the first drink with flavor he’d tasted since his capture so many months before. Ferrin thought it was wonderful. Just the right touch of apple and cloves to tingle his throat as it went down. He finished his first glass, refilled it, then left the table and stood in front of the hearth to dry off. He moaned softly as the warmth of the flames enveloped him.
Behind him, the door opened, and Myron stepped inside, drawing all heads back to the front of the room. Spotting Ferrin by the fire, he shut the door and walked over.
“Rough-looking bunch,” he said, shaking the rain from his clothes like a hound after a cold soak in the river.
“Thanks,” Ferrin said with a scowl as he stared down at the new splotches of water Myron had just showered him with. “The horses stabled?”
Myron nodded. “Not much of a stable, if you ask me,” he said under his breath. “Barely any hay, and certainly no oats.”
Rae and Suri left the table to join them by the fire. “Here,” she said, and handed Myron the mug Layna had just left. She scooted Suri between the two men to get her closer to the hearth.
Myron downed the entire helping in one gulp. “Oh, that hit the spot.” He looked at Ferrin. “Did you find us a room?”
Ferrin smiled. “The stables.”
Myron grimaced.
“The only place available, evidently,” Ferrin said. “The owner is working on getting us a plate of whatever’s on the stove.”
“Right now, I wouldn’t care if it was freshly caught muskrat,” Myron said with an unnerving amount of sincerity. “I just want something hot and chewy.”
It wasn’t long before the short taverner pushed back through the swinging doors with a tray filled to overflowing. Balancing their food with the skill of a Keldoran dancer, she weaved through the tables.
The group left the warmth of the fire to settle back into their seats.
“I take it you found the stables,” Layna said to Myron, handing out the plates of stewed meat layered in thick gravy. Myron nodded as he lifted his spoon, more eager to stuff his face than talk. He had nearly cleaned his plate by the time Layna had put Ferrin’s down.
Myron licked his lips, and for a brief moment, Ferrin thought he was about to lick his plate as well. “I haven’t tasted a better stew since my grandmother passed ten years back.”
Layna smiled and took his platter. “More?”
“Do you even need to ask?”
Ferrin finished off the last bite of his own dish and wiped his mouth. “If you can keep these salvers filled till we say enough, I’ll make sure there’s some extra coin in it for your troubles.”
Layna smiled. “I’ll have you rolling out of here before I’m
through.” With that, she took off toward the back, this time ignoring a few of her regulars on the way.
True to her word, she had them hobbling from their seats by the time they finished what was left. Ferrin felt like he’d just made up for the last few months he’d spent starving in the Tower, eating their diet of maggoty bread and sour gruel. Unlike Myron, he’d only been able to make it through two and a half bowls before feeling an uncomfortable tightness in his stomach. He was glad he had stopped when he did; otherwise, he had a feeling he’d be losing most of it later.
By the time they finished, most of the patrons had left, though there were still two tables of men near the back, smoking their pipes, chatting quietly to themselves.
“About time we turned in,” Ferrin said with a yawn as he loosened his pants straps. His last swallow of cider hadn’t made it any farther down than the middle of his throat. His body felt heavy, and breathing took a little extra effort, but it was worth it.
Ferrin paid for the meal and accommodations, then followed the others out the front and around to the stable. The barn was cold and cramped but dry, and right then, that was all that truly mattered. After making sure the horses were fed, the weary travelers laid their bedding across some bales of hay near the back, keeping close together for the warmth.
“We need to set up a watch,” Ferrin said to Myron as Rae and Suri snuggled under their blankets.
“I agree. Didn’t care much for the look of her patrons.”
“I’ll take first watch, then.”
“Wake me in three.”
“Do me a favor and try not to snore so loud,” Ferrin said with a smirk. “You’ll spook the horses.”
Myron tossed a handful of hay at him, then leaned his sword against the wall and crawled under his blankets.
Ferrin sat down in front of one of the stalls about six feet from where Myron, Rae, and Suri were sleeping. Without a fire to warm him, he covered himself up in his blanket and listened to the horses as they stirred in their stalls. It didn’t take long before the sound of Myron’s snores overpowered everything else.
Ferrin shook his head.
Plague of Shadows Page 32
