“Did you see the stuff that man was selling?” Jarad asked.
“Not so closely as to tell much about it,” Lyssanne said. “I'm not sure I'd wish to.”
They moved on, away from the addled talisman peddler and heedless of the shadow that stalked them by air.
Night had fallen by the time Lyssanne and Jarad neared the last stalls and shops. He suddenly clasped her arm, cutting her yawn short. “I think that’s…It is! Sir Brennus!” He ran to meet the tall figure striding toward them.
“A good evening to you, Jarad.” The knight’s deep, familiar tones washed over Lyssanne like a welcome rain. “It is unwise to linger in the marketplace after dark,” he said. “I doubt your lady would wish to keep company with anyone she'd meet here at this hour.”
As he and Jarad drew near, Lyssanne curtseyed. “Sir Brennus.”
He inclined his head to her. “This market can be taxing. Have you procured lodgings?”
“Not as yet,” she said. Was her weariness so evident?
“If you like,” said Sir Brennus, “I shall show you to an inn I discovered yestereve. The innkeeper seems honest and serves a passable supper.”
“The supper part suits me,” Jarad said.
His stomach chose that moment to voice its agreement, and they all laughed.
Sir Brennus led them through a maze of streets that seemed designed to get one lost.
When they stopped before the inn’s wide door, Jarad peered up at its sign. “Field’s End?”
“I’ve seen more peculiar names for an inn,” Sir Brennus said, ushering them inside.
Scattered candles and oil lamps shed watery light through the dim interior. Slowly, tables and a long counter solidified out of the gloom. Glasses clinked, men laughed, wood scraped on wood, and voices rose and fell in conversation.
A slight woman bustled up to them, her grey hair pulled back so severely, Lyssanne at first thought she had none. “Sir Brennus, back for another night, eh? And who is this you’ve brought me? More guests?” She looked Lyssanne and Jarad over. “Just meals or lodgings, too?”
“Both,” he said. “Lyssanne, Jarad, may I present the owner of this fine establishment.”
“Oh, you do flatter, but your courtly ways won’t reduce my fee.” Laughing, the innkeeper turned to Lyssanne. “Brija Vivva-Beh, at your service. We’re nearly full, but for friends of Sir Brennus, I’m sure we’ll find something. Now, follow me. I’ll get you a table.”
“What does the name mean?” Jarad asked. “The one above the door?”
“A place of rest after a long day’s toil,” Madam Vivva-Beh said. “I changed the name after my husband died. Thought it more appealing than ‘The House of Beh.’ Here ya are, then.” She swiped a cloth from her shoulder and passed it over a table.
“Brija, love!” a man said from across the room. “Forgotten me already?”
“Get yourselves settled,” said the innkeeper. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
They sank onto sturdy, wooden chairs, Lyssanne and Jarad glancing about. The room was full to bursting with people, rattling dishes, and pipe-smoke. Raucous laughter spilled from one corner, and a man yelled for more ale. So drippy was his voice, he’d likely consumed several flagons already. A younger woman with thick, dark hair wove among the tables, filling cups and jesting with the patrons. Two men began arguing nearby. One fell from his chair, then stood unsteadily and punched his companion.
“Angus!” Madam Vivva-Beh shouted from another part of the room.
A man the size of Lyssanne’s storage cupboard lifted both the yelling patrons by their tunics and dragged them from the inn.
“The way you two stare,” Sir Brennus said, “one would think you’d never seen an inn.”
“One would be correct,” Lyssanne said, her cheeks aflame.
“Where, then, did you sleep during your previous travels? Surely you do not always journey through forests.”
“This is the farthest I’ve ventured from my home. I’ve never before had the need.”
“Yet you travel all but alone?” he said. “Odd that so sheltered a lady should do so.”
“I must apologize for the delay,” Madam Vivva-Beh said, coming up behind Sir Brennus. “We’re short-staffed tonight. May be a bit of a wait for your supper.” She wiped her hands on the cloth draped over her shoulder. “Now, you’ll be wantin’ rooms for yourself and the boy, eh, mistress? Supper and breakfast, as well? That’ll be three silvers and two coppers for the lot. I’ll collect and find you rooms after you’ve eaten.” She bustled off without awaiting a reply.
“How much do we have?” Jarad murmured to Lyssanne.
“Ten silvers and a handful of coppers.”
Something must have shown on Sir Brennus’s face, for Jarad asked him, “Is that not worth much?”
“How can it be, that you do not know the value of coins?”
“They are not used in our village,” Lyssanne said. “Rather, we trade in goods and labors. Only the traveling merchant ever pays us in coin. That, we trade to the Council, who use it to pay the annual tax to the realm.”
“How, precisely, does this trading in labors work?”
“Well, I might, let us say, grow flowers,” she said. “These I may trade to the chandler for candles or soap. She, in turn, uses them to scent her wares.”
“What, then, if you have all the candles you need but no bread?”
“Perchance the baker needs candles, so I’d trade my extras with him,” she said, “but it isn't always a one-to-one exchange. As long as we do our part to serve the village, citizens may have whatever we need.”
“So, everything is, what, rationed out?”
“Not exactly,” she said. How could she explain this? “Over the years, the Council has determined how much bread or how many eggs might be needful to sustain a person in good health for the week. Still, let's say I’ve a desire for a sweet pastry. I might perform an extra deed for the baker or trade something for it.”
“That seems a strange life,” Sir Brennus said.
“Not as strange as thinking bits of metal are as valuable as food,” Jarad said.
Their supper arrived, and Lyssanne could have wept at the aroma. Pan-seared chicken crusted with herbs, green beans, boiled potatoes, and a thick slice of apple tart greeted her ravenous eyes. Never had she been so pleased to see green beans, the first cooked vegetable she’d eaten since leaving Cloistervale.
Jarad must have felt much the same, for he ate without pause. Only after devouring his tart did he draw breath. “D’you think that man, the one selling all those charms and stuff, d’you think he was right about your pendant being magic?”
Sir Brennus set his fork down, slowly, the touch of his gaze boring into Lyssanne.
“No, Jarad,” she said. “That sounds too much like sorcery.”
Jarad reached down beside his chair, where he’d stashed his bow and quiver. He straightened, holding a slender tube. “Been wondering what this is,” he said, untying the string binding the rolled parchment. He eyed the contents then whistled. “Looks like a riddle.”
“It is best we entertain no thought of that man or his offerings,” Lyssanne said.
“You must hear this, though,” he said, then began to read. “Seek out the bird whose bark is the soul of wisdom, that lion who has flown through every age. The copper wings that unite earth and sky carry words to set the Darkness ablaze. Seek out the King’s message where the sun lays its head in snow and sea. For you and all, one hope remains. Seek it beyond the granite tree.”
“The King’s message?” Lyssanne reached for the parchment.
As she read and reread the odd lines, Sir Brennus excused himself, and Madam Vivva-Beh returned to fill their juice goblets.
“Can our horse stay in your barn tonight?” Jarad asked.
“If there’s an empty stall. You’ll have to buy your own feed. I don’t supply that.”
Once the innkeeper was out of earshot, Jarad said, “I figured we
should let Reina know we’re safe. I can go get her and Serena. Uh, if that’s your wish.”
“Do you know the way?” Lyssanne asked, dropping the odd riddle into her cart.
Jarad nodded then hurried off.
Lyssanne stacked their plates and carried them to the front of the room. As she neared the long counter, her arms threatened to give way. She caught the plates against her stomach.
Suddenly, a pair of arms encircled her from behind, strong hands covering her own. She flinched, again almost dropping the plates.
“Easy,” Sir Brennus murmured into her hair. “Allow me to assist you.” He took the plates and set them atop the counter.
“Thank you.”
“You're nearly asleep on your feet, Lyssanne,” he said. “Why are you doing this? It is the duty of the inn’s staff to clear the dishes.”
“Oh,” she said. “I suppose ’tis the fault of long habit, cleaning after one’s own mess.”
“That may be, but I’m certain the innkeeper wouldn’t take kindly to broken dishes.” He inclined his head. “I bid you a good night. I must be about business quite early.”
An hour later, Jarad returned, and Madam Vivva-Beh escorted them down a corridor to a door, which opened onto the rear yard. The barn stood in the left corner, but the innkeeper led them to a small shed beside it. As they crossed the yard, wings beat overhead, stirring Lyssanne’s hair. Serena settled on her shoulder. Stroking the dove’s feathers, Lyssanne followed Jarad into the shed.
“I use this room for storage,” the innkeeper said. “There’s still enough space for you to bed down.” She turned to Lyssanne and held up her lamp. “The boy’ll have to sleep in the barn. Your bird, too. I’ll have no animal indoors to spill its droppings on my goods. When you get that settled, come back up to the inn, and I'll give you a clean straw mat.”
“A straw mat?” Jarad said. “For all those coins, she should have a real bed.”
“All my real beds, as you call them, are full,” said Madam Vivva-Beh, “with people of rank or means. What, you want I should kick one of them out so you can sleep indoors? Humph.” She handed Lyssanne the lamp and walked to the door. “Why a fine young knight like Sir Brennus associates with the likes of you, I can’t fathom. Mayhap, part of his knightly oath—mercy and charity and all that rubbish.”
“The likes of what?” Jarad snapped. “Anybody’d be lucky to have—”
“Hush, Jarad,” Lyssanne whispered. “Madam Vivva-Beh is being most generous.”
The innkeeper made a noise in her throat and stomped from the shed.
“I'll get that mat,” Jarad said. “I’d take Serena, but she won’t go to anyone except you.”
“Be civil,” she warned as they left the shed.
In the barn, Lyssanne coaxed Serena to perch on Reina’s stall, then she returned to the shed. Setting her lamp on a crate near the door, she surveyed the room. A pile of old clothes lay in one corner, between the crates stacked along the walls. She walked over to a bare spot beneath the shuttered window opposite the door. She would sleep there. Any number of foul things might be nesting in that pile of rags, and who knew what was in the crates?
“This isn't much better than sleeping outside,” Jarad said from the doorway. He held out the mat. “And there, you don't have to pay for your straw bed.”
“This will suffice,” she said, taking the mat. “I daresay I’m weary enough to sleep on the bare floor. Besides, here we needn't worry about forest beasts.”
After Jarad left, she fell fully clothed upon the straw. So swift was slumber’s descent, she failed to extinguish her lamp.
In the depths of night, something startled Lyssanne awake. She sat up, listening. The lamp had burned low, casting shadows from the crates along the wall and something darker at the foot of her mat. Wait, nothing had been in that corner when she’d lain down.
Then, the shadow moved.
Something stung her leg, and she yelped. Two enormous, wing-like shapes unfurled from the shadow. It moved into the light, and she screamed.
A human-like head hovered over her—red, hairless, and glistening. Black, dragon-esque wings curved around Lyssanne’s mat like a dark tent. She couldn't see the monster’s eyes in the gloom, but was almost certain it had three of them.
Lyssanne tried to back away. She couldn’t move! Fire coursed up her legs from the spot where the creature had stung her, and her muscles wouldn’t obey her thoughts.
The beast leaned over her, the fin-like ridges on its back silhouetted against the lamplight. She shrank against the straw, struggling to escape its fetid breath.
The fire in her veins coursed up past her waist. The creature’s fangs clicked like knitting needles, and something cold and sticky tickled her ankles. If she could still feel her limbs, why couldn’t she move them?
Two tentacles twined around her ankles and lifted them high. Lamplight glittered off a shimmery…something…wrapping itself around her legs. The burning sensation and paralysis moved up to her neck, constricting her throat and cutting off her attempted scream.
Her heart hammered as the shimmery wrap spun up her body. Its sticky fibers pinned her arms to her sides, up to the elbows. Tears ran down her cheeks as she struggled to move or to call for help. What would that creature do once she was completely encased in its cocoon?
Oh, King of All Lands, deliver me!
A creak drew Lyssanne’s eyes—the one part she could still move—toward the door. It stood open. Was that…Jarad? No! Go back! Oh King, keep him safe.
Jarad held up a hand, waving it in broad motions, then he left.
The monster’s great wings beat the air, distracting Lyssanne from her irrational sense of betrayal. The creature soared above her, blocking the lamplight, then settled near her head. A dark purple tentacle lifted her limp upper body, and the beast wrapped her in more sticky fibers.
She caught a fleeting glimpse of its bulbous, insectile torso, covered in glistening red scales, then her head lolled back on her limp neck. The room flipped upside down. Her stomach flipped with it. The creature’s rancid, fishlike stench drew bile into her throat, but her constricted airway wouldn’t let it pass. At least she wouldn’t be sick on herself, however much her head might bounce.
Just beyond the tip of her nose, three hairy, jointed legs wriggled like those of a grossly enlarged spider.
And she was to be its fly.
That thought was her last before the shimmery threads covered her nose and eyes.
9
Diornian
Breathe. That one thought whispered past the pounding in Lyssanne’s ears. Just breathe.
The cocoon’s threads molded to every dip and curve of her face, pulling at her skin with each breath she managed to squeeze in or out. She forced herself to inhale slowly, lest she draw the fibers into her nostrils. As it was, the damp heat of her exhalations was the only air available. Each recycled breath left her more lightheaded than the last.
The web surrounding her body had hardened, and she no longer struggled to move, saving all strength for breathing. How long would the fibers covering her face remain pliant?
With a sudden jolt, her head and shoulders dropped to the mat, the straw no cushion from the impact. Then, something yanked at her hair. Her heart pounded against her chest, as she longed to beat at the cocoon. That creature was wrapping the top of her head in the web! Soon, she’d be entirely encased in it. Her scant remaining breath evaporated.
A muffled sound reached her ears. Voices? The tugging at her hair ceased, then air whipped at her scalp, as if the creature had rushed past.
Someone screamed, a dull thud jolted the ground, and another voice cried out. Jarad? Then came a scuffling noise, the ring of metal, and—Was that a man's voice?
Jarad shouted near her ear, “Just hold on, Lady Lyssanne. I’ll cut you out of there. Don't move.”
As if she had a choice. She prayed whatever had distracted the monster would continue to do so, long enough for Jarad to get to
safety.
With a deafening scrape, scrape, a sawing sensation vibrated the cocoon over her right arm. Then, Jarad shouted, “Sir Brennus! I can't cut through it!”
Sir Brennus? Well, that explained the ringing metal. Whatever the knight might have said, Lyssanne couldn’t hear for the ringing in her ears. She must be running out of air. Her gasps grew shallow, and she was losing the thread of her thoughts. A jolt and loud clang shook her prison. More shouts, and then, and then…
A bang roused Lyssanne from her black daze. A sudden crash rolled her onto her left side. Something sharp pierced her right arm.
The cocoon softened and squished against her skin. Nausea rose into her throat as the sticky wetness slid against her face, her lips, everywhere. The sharp object wrenched free of her arm, and hands began tearing at the cocoon over the wound.
At last, she could breathe! Her eyes flew open. A shadow loomed over her. Through the haze of her terror, it slowly resolved into Jarad. Not the monster.
“She’s alive!” he shouted over the scuffling noises filling the shed. “Are you injured?”
Lyssanne tried to answer, but the invisible vice remained around her throat. She settled for rapid blinking.
“Can you hear me?” Jarad asked, rolling her onto her back. He began prying the remnants of the cocoon off her. “What’s wrong?” He lifted one of her hands then let it fall.
“Poison,” said Reina, her head lowering into view between the window’s broken shutters.
Jarad gasped. He shook his head, muttering frantic, unintelligible syllables.
“I do not believe the venom is lethal,” Reina said. “If it were, she’d be dead by now. The toxin is doubtless used to immobilize prey. Help her sit up. That may allow the venom to work its way out faster.”
Jarad lifted Lyssanne beneath the arms and propped her against the wall with a crate for support. She must look foolish, her head lolling to one side like an under-stuffed rag doll’s.
“I’m sorry I injured you, child,” Reina said. “It was the only way to free you.”
Keeper of Shadows (Light-Wielder Chronicles Book 1) Page 13
