by K J Taylor
“Done,” said the farmer. “My name’s Mawrth, by the way.”
“Laela,” she said.
She handed over the money—keeping ten oblong back in case he decided to change his mind the next day.
“Thankye kindly,” said Mawrth. “I’ll give ye some food, too.”
Laela smiled. “Thanks.”
“Well, it ain’t every day I meet a lady as attractive as yerself,” said Mawrth. “No need t’look so surprised—I mean it! Ye don’t need t’be so shy, girl.”
Laela, keeping her eyes on the ground, blushed. “Thanks,” she mumbled. “Can yeh show me where the barn is?”
Her new friend obliged, and she settled down into the straw very gratefully. It was good to have something close to a proper bed again.
She slept, and dreamt of her father. He was trying to tell her something, but there was a scream in the air that made his voice impossible to hear.
• • •
Mawrth was as good as his word. The next day, his cart rattled out of the village, and Laela found herself riding on the driver’s seat rather than on the back, which was piled high with cabbages, while her host, apparently oblivious to her nervousness, made cheerful conversation.
“. . . an’ they say that in Malvern, the King himself comes t’celebrate the Wolf Moon every month. I heard once the priests tried t’conduct a funeral for a friend of his without tellin’ him, an’ he showed up halfway through, punched the High Priestess in the face, an’ then finished the rites himself.”
Laela wanted to look him in the face, but forced herself not to. “Have yeh ever seen the King?”
“Once,” said Mawrth. “Not up close, mind. I was there when he announced that he was lettin’ traders come in from Amoran.”
“What was it like?” said Laela. “What was he like?”
Mawrth paused to wipe his nose on the back of his sleeve. “He looked ordinary, mostly. Young, but old. Wore a black robe, like a slave would. It’s said he never wears anythin’ else. An’ he had the Mighty Skandar with him, of course.”
“The Mighty . . . you mean the griffin?”
“Aye. The dark griffin. ‘Darkheart,’ some call him. By the moon, but that was a sight t’scare any man. I’ve seen griffins. Not up close, but I’ve seen ’em. But the Mighty Skandar is the biggest I ever saw in my life. They say he’s killed more people than any griffin in the world, an’ that his magic is so powerful, it could kill a whole army in one go. They say,” he added darkly, “they say he eats people. Enemies of the King.”
Laela shivered. “People’re scared of him. The King, too.”
“’Course they are,” said Mawrth. “Ye’d have t’be an idiot not t’be. But they protect us, Laela. See? They might be scary t’some, but without them, we’d be lost. It’s thanks t’them we’re free, an’ it’s thanks t’them we stay free, too. The Southerners outnumber us, but they’d never dare invade again. They’re too scared to, after what Skandar an’ the King did to their friends here all them years ago. An’ it’s a damn good thing, too.”
Laela frowned to herself. It was odd to hear the King, who in the South was always spoken of with fear and hatred, referred to as a heroic protector. But, she supposed, it only made sense, after all . . .
She travelled with Mawrth for nearly a week, and by the end of it she had come to like him. It was almost sad to say goodbye.
“Good luck, Laela,” he said as he pocketed her money. “I hope ye find the new home ye’re lookin’ for.”
She couldn’t stop herself from looking him in the face at last. “Thanks for everythin’, Mawrth. Yeh were a good friend.”
Mawrth nodded and smiled. “It was my pleasure.”
Laela walked away from his cart. He hadn’t shown any sign of noticing her blue eyes. Maybe he just hadn’t seen them. But then, who noticed the colour of someone’s eyes?
That part of her journey didn’t just bring her much closer to Malvern—it also gave her even more confidence.
And it showed her that her belief had been correct: Here in the North, she could blend in. Here, people treated her like an ordinary person—some of them were even friendly. Here she could make a new life—she knew it.
• • •
Her belief was confirmed over the next few weeks as a combination of money and the kindness of strangers made her journey quicker and easier. In one of the larger towns she passed through, she bought a new set of clothes—made in the thicker, warmer Northern manner. She even went so far as to enjoy a drink or two in a tavern, and aside from the usual drunken leering, no-one molested her.
By the time Malvern’s walls came in sight, she had all but lost her fear. In fact, she had come to love the North. She had barely been there any time at all, but it already felt like home. Even her misery over her father had begun to leave her. He would be happy to know that she was safe, and that thought cheered her up.
And then, at last . . . Malvern.
She chose to go on foot for the last leg of the journey, wanting to see the famed city for the first time on her own. This was an experience she wanted all to herself.
It was bigger, far bigger, than she had expected. At first it looked like a black blob, squatting on the horizon, but as she drew nearer and nearer, she began to get an idea of how enormous it really was.
The city had walls around it, as she’d expected. They were enormous, built from stone, and she could see guards patrolling along its top—tiny from that height. But beyond the wall were the five towers of the royal Eyrie, rearing into the sky.
They looked like ordinary griffiner towers, but . . . huge. Laela could see the openings in their sides and the banners flying from the tops. The towers varied in size—the one in the centre was the thickest and tallest. She could see what looked like bridges connecting them to each other.
The city gates were open, and travellers were passing in and out of them apparently unimpeded. Laela strode through, unnoticed.
So this was the big city.
She wandered through the streets with no particular destination in mind, staring in wonder at everything she saw. In most ways it was no different from the smaller towns she had already seen . . . but so full, and so busy! The streets were simply packed—people were everywhere, walking in all directions. She had never seen so many people in one place. All of them, of course, were Northerners, and for the first time in her life, Laela felt like she was just a face in the crowd. Everywhere she looked were people with black hair. Wonderful, ordinary black hair. Long fingers, angular features, a tall and long-limbed build . . . the features that had once singled her out, made her an outsider wherever she went . . . here they were normal.
Exultation filled her.
Like one in a dream, she wandered the streets, going wherever she pleased. She found the marketplace and spent a few oblong on trinkets before her empty stomach brought her back to the present. She bought an apple and a few pastries from a stall and ate them as she walked along. But the gathering darkness quickly reminded her of her original plan. Find a job, and somewhere to stay, and quickly.
The former could wait.
She left the market district and wandered further into the city, hoping to find an inn or a tavern where there could be a room to let. But she had no idea where to find one, and the city was enormous. Eventually, tired and foot-sore, she stopped a passing woman.
“’Scuse me . . .”
The woman looked at her. “What d’ye want?”
“I was hopin’ t’find an inn or somethin’ like it around here,” said Laela. “I ain’t been here long, an’ I need somewhere t’stay.”
A suspicious glare. “Where did ye get that accent?”
“Dunno. Found it lyin’ around somewhere,” said Laela, trying to sound nice and light-hearted though the woman’s unfriendly tones weren’t helping. “Look, can yeh help me? I’m in a hurry.”
“Try the south end,” the woman said briefly, and went on her way.
Laela glared at her back.
“Hope that didn’t cost yeh life savin’s or nothin’, yeh bitch.”
Lacking anything but these brief directions, she headed in what she hoped was a southward direction. The streets darkened as the sun sank lower, and although the city guard were lighting the lamps, it had the effect of making the shadows that much deeper and gloomier.
Laela, beginning to feel nervous, sped up. Eventually, after much wandering around and with her belongings chafing painfully on her shoulders, she did come across a public building of some kind. She couldn’t read the sign over the entrance, but light and loud, cheerful voices spilled out of the windows, drawing her toward it.
The door was open, so she peered through. Her heart leapt. A tavern!
She strode in, ignoring the curious stares from the almost exclusively male customers. At the bar, a young and not exactly overdressed Northern woman was serving drinks.
Laela walked up and leant on the bar. “Oi. You.”
The barmaid shoved a mug of beer down the benchtop toward a customer. “What’ll it be?”
“I’m lookin’ to find a room,” Laela said, raising her voice over the chatter. “D’yeh have one here?”
The barmaid looked slightly puzzled. “Ye’re lookin’ for a place t’stay, is that it?”
Laela opened her mouth to reply, and shut it again as a chorus of shouts and clinking mugs from behind her drowned her out. “Yeah, I’m lookin’ t’spend the night somewhere,” she said rather irritably. “Have yeh got anythin’?”
The barmaid only increased Laela’s bad temper by taking a moment to sell several more drinks. Laela waited and growled under her breath until the woman’s attention was on her again.
“Sorry, love, what was that?”
“I said—” Another uproar from behind her. “I said, do yeh have any rooms here where I could spend the night?” said Laela. “I can pay.”
The barmaid gave her a look. “How old are ye, girl?”
“Nineteen,” said Laela. “Can yeh just answer me?”
There was a long pause, while the woman gave her a long, slow look. Then she put down the mug she was trying to clean and leant down toward her. “What sort of place d’ye think this is?” she asked kindly. “Does this look like an inn?”
Laela glanced around. The place was full of tables, and there were men everywhere, drinking and laughing among themselves. The few women were dotted around the room, some of them sitting in laps or pausing to caress a face.
She looked back at the barmaid. “Well, there’re men drinkin’ here, ain’t there?”
The barmaid laughed. “Well, yeah. We don’t get that many women here. Most of the girls what come here are lookin’ for a job, not a drink.”
“What does that have t’do with anythin’?” Laela snapped. “D’yeh have a room or not?”
“We got a few, upstairs,” said the barmaid, going back to her cleaning. “But I don’t think ye’d want t’stay in any of ’em. Pretty noisy up there, if ye get my drift. Them rooms sees a lot of use.”
Laela frowned. “What are yeh talkin’ about?”
“Good gods.” The barmaid wiped a grimy arm over her forehead. “Where’ve ye been livin’ all this time—under a rock?”
“I ain’t from around here,” said Laela, still thoroughly mystified.
“This ain’t an inn,” said the barmaid.
Laela turned to look at the clientele, and the scantily dressed young women walking among them. Realisation finally dawned.
“Oh, holy . . .”
She almost ran out, her ears ringing with raucous laughter and lewd comments hurled at her, face burning with humiliation.
Outside, she flattened herself against a wall and breathed deeply. Then she let it out again in a string of swear-words. Her foster father had known plenty of curses and had never been shy about using them, but just now they seemed hopelessly inadequate.
She rubbed a hand over her face—it was actually as hot as it felt. Gods damn it. She swore some more, and then dusted herself down and walked away as quickly as she could.
Well, how was I supposed t’know? she thought furiously. I couldn’t read the damned sign. I was too tired t’notice . . .
It didn’t make her feel any less of an idiot.
She stopped on the corner of the street to wipe the sweat off her forehead. It was completely dark now; how was she supposed to find anything in this twice-damned city?
A hand touched her shoulder. “Lost, are ye?”
Laela turned and saw a couple of men. “Yeah,” she said cautiously. “A bit. I’m lookin’ for a place t’stay.”
They glanced at each other. “Ye could stay with us,” said one.
His breath stank of beer. Laela tried not to gag. “No thanks. If ye know where there’s an inn or somethin’, though . . .”
“We know a good one,” said the other man.
“Yeah,” said his friend. He hadn’t taken his hand off Laela’s arm. “C’mon, we can show ye.”
Laela tried to pull away from him as politely as possible. “Just tell me where t’go, an’ I can find it myself.”
“Oh, c’mon,” said the other, somehow managing to get behind her without seeming to move at all. “We’re all right; just a couple of friends lookin’ t’help a nice young lady like yerself. Nothin’ t’worry about.”
Laela didn’t trust them in the least. “All right then,” she said, deciding to play along for the time being.
They led her away up the street, keeping uncomfortably close. Laela had the feeling that they were ready to grab her arms if she tried to run. Her heart beat fast. But she didn’t want to risk making them angry—they were obviously drunk, and besides, maybe they were just being overfriendly.
She walked as quickly as she could, hoping to outpace them. They sped up, too, not moving away.
“Could yeh move back a bit?” she said at last. “Yer kinda crowdin’ me.”
“Oh, we’re sorry,” said one. “We din’t mean t’scare ye, girl. We’re just makin’ sure ye keep safe, like. Wouldn’t want anythin’ t’happen to ye.”
His friend sniggered.
The instant Laela heard it, she snapped. Without a sound, she twisted away from them and ran.
After her first mad dash, she began to look at where she was going, hoping to find somewhere she could lose them. But the crowds had thinned out by now.
And they were chasing her. She could hear their pounding footsteps behind her. Her heart pounded, too, as if it were trying to keep pace with the sound.
She sped up and darted away in a random direction, searching now for a place to hide. But the two men were fit and strong, and she was exhausted after days of long travel and too little sleep. They were gaining on her.
Finally, unable to run any further, she ducked into an alleyway and huddled into a shadow, hoping they would miss her.
She kept as still as she could, scarcely breathing, offering up a silent prayer to Gryphus that he would keep her safe, stop them from seeing her . . .
For a few moments, nothing happened, and she began to think that maybe she had escaped.
“Where are ye, miss?”
The voice came drifting down the alley toward her, full of hateful confidence. Laela felt her stomach twist. She started to edge her way toward the end of the alley, but it was too late.
The two men stepped toward her, leering. They had her cornered now, and the sight of them sent cold despair through her whole body.
But not for long. Laela’s eyes narrowed, and she reached behind her and drew the sword.
“Stay away from me!” she snarled.
They backed off a little at that.
“Well, damn me!” said one. “A lady with a sword.”
The other looked unperturbed. “I’d put that down if I were ye, girl,” he drawled. “Ye don’t want t’get hurt, do ye?”
“I want you to get away from me,” Laela said. “I know how t’use this sword, see? So move away before I show yeh.”
The
first one pulled a knife out of his belt. “Reckon we’re gonna have t’deal with this one together, Aled.”
The second, Aled, drew his own knife. “I reckon so, too. C’mon girl,” he added, almost gently. “Ye don’t want us t’have t’hurt ye, do ye?”
Laela felt her arm beginning to tremble, but she didn’t lower the sword. “I don’t want to kill yeh,” she said. “An’ I will if I have to.”
“All right, that’s enough,” said Aled.
He moved forward, along with his friend, and Laela panicked. They were too close, too close; she didn’t know how to fight like this—
She tried to make a thrust with the sword, but Aled sidestepped the blow and grabbed her by the forearm. He twisted, and pain rifled through her arm. She screamed.
Immediately, a hot, foul-tasting hand closed over her mouth.
“Just shut up,” Aled rasped in her ear. “An’ it’ll all be over soon, see?”
Laela struggled while the other man pulled her belongings off her back and rummaged through them. There was a rattle of oblong.
“By the shadows, look at this!” he said. He opened the bag. “There’s got t’be at least two hundred in here!”
Aled, holding Laela with his knife to her throat, grinned disbelievingly. “This is our lucky night! Quick, hide it away in case anyone sees us.”
Laela squirmed and bit his hand. He pulled it away for an instant, and she took her chance and screamed for help.
Aled hit her, hard, in the face. “Try that again, an’ ye’ll crawl out of here with one less ear.”
His friend stuffed Laela’s bag of money into his tunic. “Hurry it up, will ye? We don’t want no guards findin’ us.”
Aled ignored him. The hand holding the knife crept down Laela’s front. She struggled again, harder, trying to scream through the hand still muffling her, but there was nothing she could do. His hand slid inside her dress, down and down to clutch at her breasts, and she felt herself slide into an abyss of pure terror and despair. She was going to die . . .
No. They weren’t going to kill her. It would be worse than that, far worse . . .
Aled tensed suddenly, and his hand stopped.
“Who are ye?” Laela heard him grate out.
