She stepped smoothly out of the blade’s range and caught the man’s wrist as the weapon swept past her. She wrenched his thumb and wrist backward and he dropped suddenly to his knees to keep the bones of his arm from breaking. His cry of pain stilled the surrounding buyers and sellers who turned to gawk.
Rowan stripped the knife from his nerveless fingers and knocked him in the side of the head with the butt. He crumpled to the mud next to his friends. Rowan threw the knife down between her attackers, where it buried to the hilt in the mud.
A snicker escaped Nathel as he walked up and bent over to look at the three injured men in exaggerated sympathy. “Come, come Sweetling,” he said to Rowan, “Let’s not make any widows today. You know how sad you left those poor women in the last town. Surely these fine gentlemen don’t deserve such harsh punishment for a little lack of manners?”
Rowan turned and walked away. The people nearby who had witnessed the incident watched her with wide eyes but Torrin stood rooted to the spot where he had watched it all unfold. Ignoring Nathel’s banter, he focused on slowing his breathing. He clenched his fists by his side to quell the shaking of his hands. It was the second time he’d lost control and this time he hadn’t even been fighting for his life in battle. There was no excuse – she had not even been in need of help.
Nathel followed Rowan but only after he had nudged the bleeding man with the tip of his toe. “You should really get that looked at, friend. Perhaps next time you will show a little more respect. A lady is still a lady, even if she can knock your lights out.”
*
Rowan glanced back at Nathel’s antics to see Torrin turn his back suddenly and stalk away from them. She took a step to follow but Nathel reached her and looped his arm through hers.
“Let’s get that list of Borlin’s finished so we can go enjoy a cup. Can’t let that scoundrel have all the fun while we are out here slaving away for the greater good.”
“Where is Torrin going?” asked Rowan.
Nathel forced a grin. “I think your little demonstration reminded him to see to the weapons. Are you going to put on that show in every village we pass through? Because I will sell tickets for the next one.”
Rowan smiled at his joke but she felt uneasy. Something was very strange here.
The Inn
The rain poured down from beyond the stable doors. Rowan patted Roanus on the nose and threw her damp saddlebags over her shoulder. The others were waiting in the lantern light beside the doors. All except Torrin.
Rowan swung the stall door closed behind her and deposited her bags on the pile of their gear, which now bulged with new supplies. She was looking forward to being dry for a change, and a warm bed and a hot meal would be most welcome.
The short run across the puddle-filled street saw them almost soaked through again. The inn’s bright interior spilled out onto the dark street and the noise from inside increased as they approached. It had been a long time since Rowan had been in such a place, surrounded by people and sound. There was music and cheer, as though the dire events of the world could not find this place.
Klyssen soldiers, like the ones at the gate, occupied most of the tables. Local villagers were also there catching up on any news the soldiers had brought.
A plump little man with a sparkling white apron came bustling over to them. He was sweating freely and wiping his hands. The little host ushered them over to a table in the corner, beside a roaring fireplace.
“We have a little of the venison stew left and my wife has made some lovely mincemeat pies.” He rolled his eyes at the busy room, ringing pudgy hands. “It never gets this busy so we don’t stock enough for so many.”
Dalemar made a soothing gesture. “We’ll have whatever you are offering, master innkeeper.”
“Of course, of course. I will bring some ale. Would you perhaps care for something a little sweeter, my lady?” His round eyes were on the pommel of Rowan’s sword.
“Ale will be fine, thank you,” replied Rowan. The little man turned on his heel to trot away.
Once Rowan was settled comfortably, she looked over the folk at the other tables. Her gaze stopped on a man seated alone in the darkest corner. His back was to them and she could barely see him. She realized with a start that she was looking at Torrin. She began to get up to let him know they were there, but felt a restraining hand on her arm and looked down to find Nathel holding on to her.
He shook his head, his expression serious. “He knows we’re here. He’ll come when he’s ready.”
Rowan slid back down in her chair and looked again at Torrin.
The rain poured down outside, lightening flashed and thunder shook the walls. It was the most intense storm Rowan had yet seen in the lands of Eryos. She was thankful to be sitting with her companions in the warm common room of the inn. Nathel recounted the afternoon’s incident to the others, much to Borlin’s delight.
The Stoneman pounded a wide fist on the wooden table, rattling the cups, “Good fer ye, Lass! Give the bastards hell.” He looked like a proud father, amber eyes twinkling and his wide mouth stretched in a grin.
Rowan laughed warmly at Borlin and resisted the urge to reach across the table to give his short beard a tug.
“You’re my hero,” Nathel teased her.
Rowan snorted in disgust, kicking him under the table.
“Ow! What?” Nathel reached down to rub his shin.
A shadow covered the table. Rowan looked up to see Torrin pulling out a chair to sit down with them. She watched his face as he set his tankard down on the table. He and Nathel exchanged a cryptic glance but the conversation continued as though Torrin had been sitting among them all evening.
“We are being watched,” Arynilas said. He had not missed a single detail of the noisy room.
Torrin nodded. “Klyssen officers. I’ve been watching them watch you for a while.”
“How soon do you reckon it will take them to come over and satisfy their curiosity?” Nathel asked.
“I give them about five more minutes, especially now that I’ve sat down,” Torrin said.
Borlin shook his head, his beard bristling as a grin crossed his face. “A silver piece says ten minutes.”
“Three,” said Dalemar, “and only the young one will come, and he will speak to Rowan first.”
Rowan laughed quietly as Nathel winked at her.
It took the younger of the two exactly three minutes to get up and saunter over to their table.
“Lieutenant Lorn,” he introduced himself to Rowan.
“Nice to meet you, my name is Rowan,” she suppressed a grin as coins were passed covertly to Dalemar.
Lieutenant Lorn wore an oiled moustache and had close-cropped hair. He was well polished and trim. Rowan suspected he had only worn his officer’s uniform for a short while.
“And where might you be from?” he asked, pulling up a chair next to her.
“Myris Dar.” Ignoring his blank look at the mention of her distant island home, she introduced him to her friends.
“My Lady,” he intoned with drama, “surely a creature such as yourself should be traveling with an honour guard.” His eyes flickered to her sword pommel, but he continued blithely as though there was nothing out of the ordinary. “It is no longer as safe as it once was, you know. Perhaps I can arrange for you a contingent of the Klyssen cavalry to accompany you to where you are traveling? Just let me know your destination and I will look after everything else.” He kept her gaze, refusing to look at her companions.
“My thanks to you for your concern. I do not require an escort, though I am sure you would be of great service,” said Rowan.
The officer smiled. “My name is widely known in these parts. I have been through many battles and I am somewhat of folk hero. I would be most happy to tell you of some of the more exciting tales of my military exploits.”
The innkeeper arrived with their meals and many apologies for the tardiness of the service, and Torrin took advantage of the inter
ruption to ask the young officer what news there was of King Cerebus and the war in Pellar.
Lorn leaned back and waved a hand in dismissal. “Oh they should be making out well enough by now I would imagine, what with the Klyssen cavalry we sent as reinforcements.”
Torrin leaned forward, his expression intense. “How many?”
“Fifteen hundred, the most ever sent out to a foreign war.”
Torrin shared a look with Nathel and the others and he shook his head imperceptibly. There was no way to know if the fifteen hundred would make a difference in the fight against the Raken.
“Where are you headed, Lieutenant?” asked Nathel.
“We are heading out on border patrol, making sure none of these Raken things are coming across from Pellar.”
“Oh aye? Have ye met with any of ’em yet?” asked Borlin.
“Not as yet, but if we do, it will be a sad day for them,” the lieutenant said flatly.
“You would be wise not to underestimate them,” Torrin said quietly.
Lieutenant Lorn snorted in amusement. “Not even a marauding Raken hoard can diminish the might of Klyssen cavalry. The King of Klyssen sent the cavalry, mounted I might add on Horse Clan stock, to Pellar as a friendly favour to a neighbour in need. We are vigilant and will not be caught unaware by some foreign invader.”
“Your border patrols, have they increased?” asked Dalemar.
“Yes, but it is only a precaution.”
“Have you ever seen the Raken your comrades have gone to fight?” Rowan regretted the question as soon as she uttered it.
It launched the young lieutenant on a diatribe of the virtues of Klyssen cavalry. “There is nothing to match the awe and fear created by mounted horsemen thundering down on an opponent,” he stated dryly.
She winced and shrugged in apology to her companions for having prolonged the pain. Nathel grinned wickedly at her and she buried herself in her plate of food. It was a while before she realized that Lieutenant Lorn had ceased speaking and was looking at them all expectantly; like her, the rest had tuned out his droning voice and were blinking at him as if he had only just appeared.
“I asked why four humans, one of them a Stoneman, and two Tynithians, travel together?” He had mistaken Dalemar for a Tynithian and the Rith stared in astonishment at such an apparent error.
Nathel leaned back in his chair and waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, we travel together because there is nothing that can match the awe and fear created by a thundering Stoneman and his friends.”
Borlin’s great guffaws resounded suddenly in the noisy room and he nearly fell off his chair. Heads turned to see what the ruckus was. Dalemar chuckled when Borlin pounded Nathel on the back so hard he spilled his ale. Even Arynilas and Torrin wore grins.
Rowan almost felt sorry for the lieutenant, but then she noticed the tiniest smile on face. It disappeared as quickly as it came. “You must forgive my companions,” she said smoothly. “They have been on the road for longer than is wise for one’s sanity. Perhaps it would be best to withdraw before our thundering Stoneman decides that he needs to make a demonstration.”
Borlin’s renewed cackles emphasized her suggestion. Lieutenant Lorn nodded sagely and withdrew from the table, casting a nervous glance back at the Stoneman. Rowan turned back to see tears streaming down Borlin’s face into his red beard. She met Torrin’s gaze, and shook her head.
“It sounds as though Klyssen is mobilizing,” said Nathel as the laughter died away.
Borlin nodded, casting a sober glance across the room to where the lieutenant had resumed his own seat next to the other officer. “I pity the poor fool. ’E as no idea what ’ees up against.”
“The Raken don’t seem to be coming out of Pellar in large numbers yet then,” said Dalemar. “That’s something at least. Perhaps the ones we saw before we met Rowan were advanced scouting parties of some kind.”
“Scouting parties do not murder entire towns,” said Arynilas grimly.
Nathel nodded. “More likely they were intent on spreading fear. Invading a country is not hard when the people are terrified of you.”
Dalemar frowned. “Perhaps they were all sent to look for Rowan. We assumed until now that whoever controls the Raken knew where Rowan’s company was landing. What if they didn’t know for sure and had to send enough Raken out to all the likely places the Myrians would arrive. The Raken might then have had the dual purpose of spreading fear while they searched for Rowan.”
They all turned to look at her and Rowan frowned, feeling a rising dread at the cunning behind the Raken tracking her. Would there have been Raken waiting for her and her Myrian company if they had come ashore somewhere else? And what of the Seers of Danum and their insistence that Rowan and her party sail to Dendor and travel overland? Rowan shook her head. There were too many questions, too many unknowns and few answers.
Nathel took a sip of ale. “Whoever is controlling the Raken will not be content with Pellar alone. Why conquer only one kingdom, when you can have them all?”
Torrin nodded. “One at a time. Secure your position then move on without having to worry about your back. It’s how I would do it. Take the kingdom that is the biggest threat first. Once Pellar has fallen, it will be easy to head south. With the Erys Ocean at their back, it will be almost impossible to stem the tide,” he said grimly.
The silence stretched around the table until the rotund little innkeeper came over to clear their plates. Torrin asked him if there were rooms available.
“Oh forgive me sir but all have been rented by the soldiers.” He looked as though he might cry at the thought of an unhappy customer.
“How about the hay loft above the barn?” Torrin asked.
The innkeeper brightened at the proposed solution. “Indeed, you would be comfortable there, and no charge. Breakfast is served at sunrise.”
As Torrin paid for their meal, he asked the innkeeper what news he had heard of the war in Pellar.
The little man drew in his breath and rocked back and forth from one foot to the other. “Not good sir, not good. The City of Pellaris is under siege and King Cerebus and his advisors are trapped within.”
Rowan closed her eyes briefly, her heart sinking. How was she to get her message through into a city under siege?
“When did the siege begin?” Torrin asked in a tight voice as his gaze traveled around the table and stopped at Rowan.
“Oh I can’t rightly say, I’ve been hearing bits and pieces of rumour for several days now.”
“Have you seen any Raken around here? Any attacks?”
The innkeeper looked positively scandalized. “Goodness no, Thank Erys. I’ve never even seen a Raken, and frankly,” his voice sank to a whisper, “I think their description is much exaggerated.”
Torrin thanked the man and he trundled off to see to other customers.
“At least Pellaris is well suited to a siege,” said Nathel.
Torrin nodded. “Nathel is right, they could hold out for over a month, longer if the food stores are good.” He noticed Rowan’s puzzled look and explained. “The city is perched on a promontory over-looking the sea. An army can only attack from two sides. It is nigh impenetrable provided that it is well defended.”
Rowan shook her head. “That’s not the point. If Pellaris is under siege it means that we have no way to get into the city. No way of delivering the message.”
Borlin looked at Dalemar. “Perhaps there is a way to get through the Raken with out being detected.”
The Rith nodded. “I can think of several things that might work, but it would be risky.”
“There is another possibility,” offered Torrin quietly. “But this is not the place to speak of it.” He glanced meaningfully at Nathel whose pale blue eyes reflected an immediate understanding. Both Torrin and Nathel turned together to look at Rowan. “Rest assured,” said Torrin, “the message will be delivered.”
The five companions all nodded. Rowan felt a deep affection wash over he
r. She sighed in relief and curled her fingers around the warm cup of mulled wine, which the innkeeper had brought her along with her ale. Rowan was happy he brought her a more ladylike beverage, for she was greatly enjoying its warm, heady sweetness.
Tying not to think of the uncertainty ahead, she focused instead on the good things at hand. The room was cheerful, with people talking and laughing as they ate and drank. She had received the usual stares and disapproving glances, but they had not affected her this time. The entire group she sat with was odd; what was one warrior woman compared with a Rith, a Tynithian, two huge northern men and a Stoneman?
She smiled to herself and took a sip of wine. As she lowered the cup, she noticed an old woman sitting on a rickety chair next to the big ale barrels. Tiny and bird-like with bright blue eyes, she watched Torrin intently. Rowan glanced across the table at Torrin. He was in conversation with the others and had not noticed the scrutiny.
Rowan looked back at the old woman, who had risen to her feet and was making her way slowly through the tables with the aid of a wooden walking stick. She was thin, dressed in homespun wool. Her long grey hair was pulled back from her face and tied in a bun. Her eyes never left Torrin as she moved toward them.
Rowan looked quickly back at Torrin. He had seen the old woman now and was watching her approach with the wariness of a trapped animal. A flash of pain washed over his features.
Rowan looked up as the old woman moved past her. She placed a thin, speckled hand on Rowan’s shoulder for support as she walked around the table to Torrin. He rose from his chair as she neared him. The old woman reached out with shaking fingers and took hold of Torrin’s hand. Her pale, papery skin stood out against his sun-dark complexion. She tilted her small head back to speak to him and Torrin leaned down to listen.
Messenger from Myris Dar (The Stone Guardians Book 1) Page 18
