‘What have they to fear from us more than any other traveller?’ Nathaniel said.
‘Imagine if a handful of armed Lycans strolled through your people’s farms one day. What would be the first reaction of your people, I wonder?’
Nathaniel blinked.
‘That’s different,’ he protested.
‘Is it?’ Zaine said. ‘Regals are no more used to Lycans, as a people deserving of rights and dignity, than these people are to the Scorched.’
They took a turn into a street lined with dwellings, where wide eyed children still played in the dust.
‘The relationship between Lycans and Regals is completely different,’ Nathaniel insisted. ‘We’ve a shared history, these people, they… they just–’
‘If you would allow Lycans to walk among your people, Regal, in time you would come to accept them,’ Zaine said.
‘That won’t happen,’ Nathaniel scoffed. ‘The Szar certainly won’t allow that to happen.’
‘Tolken believed it could,’ the Hunter countered. ‘Had you shared the Szar’s worldly views, you wouldn’t be here now.’
Nathaniel had no retort for that.
Zaine tugged his reins back and stopped his horse in the middle of the street. A wide building, at least twice as tall as any other nearby, had caught the Hunter’s attention. A sign, shaped in the silhouette of a rearing horse, swung gently in the breeze above the words, THE PRANCER. A faint buzz, emanating from behind the door, became more apparent the closer they got to the inn. As they dismounted, the door was flung open, spilling soft music out into the street. The man that burst out with it lurched towards them, his arms swinging by his knees, looking particularly worse for wear.
‘‘scusemewouldya,’ the man’s words rolled into each other. He gave the Scorched boy a strange look, as he barged past. Vaera looked horrified as she watched the man take a tumble onto the street, before picking himself up and staggering away.
‘Looks like you after your first ale, Gabe,’ Brey giggled behind her hand.
A stab of annoyance daggered Nathaniel’s stomach, though not for Brey’s laugh. In fact, he wasn’t quite sure what it was for. He avoided Kaira’s inquisitive eyes, as he restrained a grimace.
‘Perhaps, we should keep going to the next town?’ Samir enquired, discretely.
‘Under that?’ Gabe stuck a thumb up at the dark, swollen clouds overhead. They looked fit to burst, at any given moment.
‘I’m not sleeping outside again,’ Vaera said firmly, folding her arms against her body and shivering despite the relative warmth.
‘This will do for tonight,’ Zaine said. No one contested the matter, after the Hunter had spoken.
A wiry boy, who had been leaning against the tavern’s front, stepped forward hesitantly, offering to stable their horses. After a moment’s consideration, in which the boy tugged uncomfortably at his collar, the Hunter agreed and gave him a silver coin. Nathaniel suddenly thought of the inscribed rod, which had mysteriously appeared in his saddlebags, and pulled it out before him. He was certain his grandfather had put it there for a reason. But why? Surely Thorne would have told him its purpose rather than leave him with this strange puzzle. Even though it currently seemed of little use, he felt oddly drawn to it.
With a shrug, he tucked the rod inside his belt. If Thorne thought it important enough to keep, then perhaps, in time, he too would divulge its secrets.
Vaera audibly gagged, as they crossed the threshold, and looked as if she were about to mount a series of complaints. However, perhaps remembering her previous statement, she pursed her lips tightly. Not that Nathaniel disagreed with her. The smell of ale and sweat hung so heavily inside the tavern, you could practically taste it. Gamrial’s rose-scented bar in Obsidia seemed a lifetime ago.
It was particularly quiet tonight. A handful of the tavern’s patrons dotted the long benches that lined the middle of the tavern and most of the tables buried in the shadows were unoccupied.
A few of the inn’s patrons swayed dangerously to the sombre tune of a lyre. The bard looked as if he sincerely regretted ever coming across Greymound. For the most part though, people sat quietly at their tables, bathed in candlelight, exchanging hushed words or blowing plumes of smoke from their pipes.
They must have cut a strange bunch; two Regals, four Lycans, and a Hunter, hidden within the shadows of his hood. Indeed, many raised their heads from their tankards to observe the newcomers with apparent discomfort.
‘I’m not sure about this,’ Nathaniel heard Samir murmur beside him.
‘Are you mad?’ Gabe said, hungrily eyeing the platters of steak being carried about by the white-aproned serving maids.
‘Well, what do you want, what do you want?’ a screechy voice cut in.
The innkeeper, a bony man with long, wispy hair that was receding halfway over his head, crossed the floor to meet them. A toothy smile fought with a grimace, as if the man were unsure whether he really wanted their business. His mind quickly settled when he caught sight of the coins glimmering in the Hunter’s hand.
‘And how may I serve, my lord?’ the innkeeper’s back creaked, like a ship’s hull, into a half-bow.
There was a rattle of metal, as Zaine dropped a handful of silvers into the innkeeper’s outstretched hand.
‘Three rooms, food, and drink,’ Zaine said briskly.
‘Of course, of course,’ the innkeeper gave an even more ingratiating bow, though raised an eyebrow at the grey-skinned Regals, and both when turning to Samir. ‘I’m sure I could find your… servant… a pallet in the attic?’ he nodded towards the Scorched boy.
Gabe snorted loudly at that and the book Samir held trembled in his hands. Nathaniel found himself wondering for a moment what it would be like to experience the ire of the gentle Scorched boy. The innkeeper looked between them confusedly.
‘The boy will be staying with us,’ Zaine said. He palmed a coin into the man’s hand, perhaps a little harder than necessary, for the innkeeper actually bit his lip to mask the pain. ‘And we’ll want a table to ourselves, preferably backed against a wall.’
‘As my lord wishes,’ the innkeeper dipped his head once more.
They were guided to one of the alcoves, cut into the walls of the tavern. Inside it, a serving maid was bending over a table, straightening a somewhat soiled cloth. The innkeeper, who had introduced himself as Marlo, sent the maid scurrying with a few hissed commands.
‘Would this be suited to my lord’s needs?’ Marlo said, waving his hands dramatically over the table, as if it were a King’s lounger and not stained with grime and spilt ale.
‘This will do,’ Zaine said.
The innkeeper’s eyes flickered to the bags they lumped under the table, before settling on the rod attached to Nathaniel’s belt.
‘Will there be anything else?’ Marlo inquired. His eyes had not left the rod. Nathaniel didn’t like how the man was staring at it.
‘Just food and drink, innkeeper,’ Zaine replied.
‘As you please, my lord,’ the man bowed graciously. His mouth sagging back into a grimace the moment he turned away.
‘I don’t like him,’ Samir muttered tightly, as soon as Marlo was out of earshot.
‘Does the servant dare speak?’ Gabe grinned slyly. He returned an innocent shrug to Kaira, after she kicked him under the table.
A moment later, the maid returned to their table with foaming tankards and a platter with an array of meats and vegetables. The sight was enough to make Nathaniel drool. Though, as soon as he had taken his first mouthful, the tavern’s door creaked open. The cold air rushing in from outside pricking the hairs on the nape of his neck.
Three newcomers entered, rainwater still dripping from their hooded cloaks. Not an inch of skin was revealed, from their thigh high boots to their leather gloves. After briefly scanning the room, they strode to the table nearest to them and set themselves down, without stripping off their cloaks or even, Nathaniel noted, lowering their hoods.
Marlo was already at their table, rudely asking what they were doing in his establishment. One of the hoods tilted in his direction and a couple of coins, appearing seemingly from nowhere, rolled towards his end of the table. Marlo stared at them for a moment, suspiciously Nathaniel thought, then scurried away with the coins in hand.
‘Who ‘a ‘ey?’ Gabe spoke through a mouthful of food.
‘Subtle as always,’ Kaira noted.
As far as Nathaniel was aware, Zaine hadn’t taken a bite from his food. His hood remaining motionless, though Nathaniel was certain his eyes had been scanning the room constantly.
‘They’ve kept an eye on us from the moment they stepped foot inside,’ he said.
‘They’re Regal Assassins?’ Gabe said, rising to grab another look. Zaine quickly dragged him back down to his seat.
‘Do you feel a need to put yourself in danger, Lycan?’ Zaine scolded Gabe, who merely shrugged in response.
As casually as he could manage, Nathaniel looked around the room in a sweeping arc, as if he were merely taking in his surroundings. If the newcomers suspected his true intentions, no indication was given. Indeed, they remained as static
‘I can’t see their faces,’ Nathaniel spoke into his drink.
‘Or any weapons,’ Kaira chipped in, ‘they seem like the rest of these people.’
Vaera appeared to be looking shrewdly at the newcomers but did not say a word.
‘Did you not listen to a word of what that farmer said?’ Gabe leant past his tankard, ‘that’s exactly what those assassins want you to think! It could be any one of these– would you stop blazing elbowing me!’
‘Stop waving your arms around like a loon, then,’ Kaira hissed back.
‘You’re going to get us noticed!’ Brey growled.
Gabe glanced between the girls, his face a curious mixture of bemusement and shock. ‘Are you both seriously stupid enough to think we haven’t been already?’ he gestured at the crowd before them, some of whom had already shared a cold look toward their table.
‘Keep your voice down, Lycan!’ Zaine’s voice was hard this time, spurring Gabe into silence.
The three remained in the same rigid position for much of the night. Their hands folded together before them, staring inwardly. If they talked at all, Nathaniel could not hear even the faintest murmur of their voices.
More villagers flocked into the tavern as the night went on, precipitating a change of tune from the bard. Jaunty songs bounced around the tavern, each accompanied by the crack of ceramic mugs against wooden tables. The people of Greymound were bizarre. No matter how well the bard performed, the villagers would pelt him with sprouts or whatever vegetable came to hand, roaring for their favourite songs. Each coarser than the last.
Brey had a funny glint in her eyes, as she stared sternly at Nathaniel over the rim of her tankard. The Lycan girl seemed to enjoy making him feel as awkward as possible, when she wasn’t flirting with Samir or Gabe. She’d pause every now and then to give him a pointed look, as if he’d said something unpleasant to her.
Nathaniel looked to Kaira for help but the Lycan appeared more interested in the bard’s rendition of A Fine Maid’s Awaiting. Vaera would mostly scowl in his direction, if he dared look at her. He wondered whether he preferred her open dislike of him to Brey’s strange games.
Trying his best to cool the heat in his cheeks, Nathaniel looked past the throng of villagers at the cloaked three opposite them. One of the inn’s patrons tried to sit with them but quickly reconsidered his decision after one of the hoods turned to face him.
‘They have the look of the Khadim,’ Samir said all the sudden.
‘The what?’ Nathaniel gave the Scorched Lycan a quizzical look.
‘The Khadim,’ Samir repeated simply, as if the term was common knowledge, ‘they who shroud themselves.’ When one of my people are widowed, they are usually swift in finding another partner. But there are those who are not always so willing. Some choose to never remarry, for they believe it would bring dishonour to the deceased. So, they hide their bodies from the light, in order to resist the temptation of another. We call them, Khadim.’
‘That’s so sad,’ Brey said.
Nathaniel thought he heard Vaera mutter something to the effect of, ‘I don’t know why women bother in the first place.’
‘Are they kadim, Sammy?’ Gabe interjected, pointing at the three opposite them.
‘Khadim,’ Gabe rolled his eyes as Samir corrected him. ‘I’m not sure, I… don’t think so.’
‘So, they might be the assassins after all,’ Gabe growled. He leant forward, as if to rise, but the slightest quiver of the Hunter’s hood caused Gabe to reluctantly slump back into his seat.
‘Revealing themselves to their target seems a strange tactic, even for the Sisters of the Dagger,’ Zaine said.
Nathaniel gulped. The Hunter made it sound as if he had made up his mind. Assassins for certain. He glanced at Vaera out of the corner of his eye. The Regal looked more thoughtful than worried, as she stared at the cloaked three. Tracing an index finger across her lower lip, as if she was considering something.
She avoided looking at Nathaniel for the rest of the evening.
Chapter 25
Nathaniel’s footsteps seemed to echo loudly, as he walked the path to the greenhouse.
It seemed awfully familiar.
‘Come on, this way,’ a voice pushed him into a stride, a girl’s voice, although he couldn’t quite tell from where.
Words were whispered into his ear, as if the girl’s chin rested against his shoulder. Nathaniel spun about, determined to find the source, but the path stood empty.
‘The girl is important,’ Nathaniel told himself. But who was the girl he so desperately needed to see? And why?
‘In here. Closer,’ the voice sang sweetly.
Something green flashed before his eyes, disappearing out of sight within the confines of the greenhouse. An odd sense of foreboding polluted Nathaniel’s stomach, bile rushing up his throat, as he stepped through the doorway.
A sea of white lilies had flooded the inside of the greenhouse, rustling against his ankles. Nathaniel only had eyes for the girl, however. Her back was turned as she knelt, so all Nathaniel could see was the green of her dress and the purple shimmer from the orchids entwined around her hair. The girl’s shoulders were heaving up and down, as she suppressed a sob into her chest.
‘Hey,’ Nathaniel said, making his voice as soothing as he could manage. ‘Are you okay?’
The girl’s shoulders froze mid-raise.
‘You should not have come,’ she said.
The voice was familiar but warped, difficult to make out.
‘It’s alright,’ Nathaniel said reassuringly. He reached toward the girl’s shoulder, but a hand snapped tightly against his wrist, holding him away from her.
‘Gah!’ he cried out in pain, ‘Let go of me! I was just–’
Nathaniel’s jaw dropped as soon as he saw the girl’s face.
The orchids didn’t just cover her hair, they were her hair. A shower of purple poured down either side of her cheeks. The purple petals, which separated her lips and eyes from the red of her face, quivered as she spoke.
‘Why?’ she demanded of him, shaking Nathaniel about as if he were a rag doll.
Nathaniel grimaced. For a hand formed of flowers, her grip was iron.
‘Why did you do this to me?’ the girl sobbed.
‘Do what? I… I don’t know what… you’re talking about,’ Nathaniel replied through gritted teeth as he fought to wrestle the girl’s hand from his arm. She was going to break his wrist if she kept holding on, but she didn’t seem to care.
‘This is all your fault, Kinslayer!’
With a shrill cry, the girl made of flowers grabbed at his jerkin with her other hand and dragged him into the lilies.
‘This–’ she struck against his back once.
‘Is–’ she struck him twice.
‘Your–’ she str
uck him thrice.
‘Fault!’ and once more for good measure.
Nathaniel felt the girl’s hold on him slip, as she again burst into tears. Petals pouring down her dress.
‘By Athrana’s grace,’ Nathaniel gasped, crawling away from her. ‘Who are you?’
The girl looked at him through her hands.
‘Do you burn for him?’ she said.
Not quite sure if he’d heard the girl right, Nathaniel frowned.
‘What?’
The ground underneath Nathaniel’s back fell through and suddenly he was falling through the lilies. He saw the girl lunge towards him, but her hand only clipped the tip of his boots.
Nathaniel cried out but no words emerged from his lips. The dark was swallowing him. Further and further he fell, until the greenhouse was little more than a white speck. A lone star, dotted on the horizon.
He grappled blindly towards it, like a man fighting to save himself from drowning. The star blinked out of existence and then all became black.
*
Nathaniel gasped and opened his eyes.
The room was dark but something seemed to stir within the shadows.
‘Who’s there?’ he called.
‘Foolish girl!’ a sharp voice replied.
‘Well… that didn’t go as planned,’ a second conceded.
From the corner of his room a third hummed a tune that sounded distinctly familiar.
Nathaniel grappled at his bedside table. Once his hands had closed against the candlestick, he closed his eyes and focused as best he could on the image of a lit flame.
Sorry, Thorne.
He felt the warmth of the candle against his hand and opened his eyes, jerking at who stood before him.
Their hoods lowered, three grey-skinned Regals surrounded his bed. One, with a shock of red hair that curled uncontrollably over her shoulders, stooped over to grab something from the floor.
‘So, you have a Warlock in your party, Kinslayer?’ she said accusingly, inquisitive eyes washing over him.
‘Don’t be foolish, Davina,’ the eldest tutted. Her hair was almost completely white, as if the Regal had dipped the top of her head into snow. She held her hand to her lips, staring at him, or through him – he couldn’t quite decide – with a pondering expression.
Nathaniel Grey and the Obsidian Crown Page 16
