“But it’s safer to go by sea. No one takes the Spine Road this time of year!”
“They do now,” Tobin interrupted their exchange. “Don’t tell me you’re pissing your breeches already?”
This drew sniggering laughter from the guards at the gate. Mirkel Rod chuckled and Tobin smirked, while Lady Cirinna remained still and silent in their midst.
Val’s face burned and he clenched his jaw so tightly that it ached.
It was because of men like Tobin that Val preferred the company of his books to people. He had thought that upon leaving Barrowthorne, he would find acceptance at last. His father and younger brothers had dismissed his love of study and books as weakness – however life was no kinder at Tarrancrest.
Fortunately, the arrival of their horses – their shod hooves clip-clopping across the cobbles – saved Val from further taunts. The stablehands led an elegant grey palfrey over to Lady Cirinna, a magnificent bay warhorse to Tobin and a heavy-set roan gelding to Val.
Val took hold of the bridle and stroked the roan’s ugly face. He had always been fond of horses and this one had soft dark eyes. It would make a good companion.
They strapped on the last of their provisions and belongings, tightened their horses’ girths and mounted. As he swung up onto the saddle, Val caught a glance of Lady Cirinna’s face beneath her hood. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her face was washed-out and expressionless. She looked straight through Val without seeing him.
Val adjusted his stirrups and turned to Captain Tobin. If they were to travel together, Val could not let this man intimidate him.
“What about the war? I’m a scholar, not a warrior. What happens if we meet trouble?”
Tobin curled his lip and cast a dismissive glance in Val’s direction.
“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”
***
They rode out of the gates, under the portcullis and over the green, stinking moat. The Keep stood on a hill above the city of Tarrancrest. From here, Val had an uninterrupted view of a honeycomb of red-walled courtyards and gardens, interspersed by solid square towers that some of Tarrancrest’s wealthy families owned. Beyond the city, Val could see the top of the vast red brick wall that encircled Tarrancrest.
They rode down Trader’s Way, a straight cobbled expanse that led directly to the city gates. Tarrancrest awoke early and merchants, farmers and artisans selling their wares thronged the street. Val was never away from his library at this time of day and had forgotten how densely populated and busy Tarrancrest was. The smell of frying onions drifted through crisp air. The smell would usually have made Val’s mouth water but this morning he had no appetite.
The mist was rolling away from the banks of Lake Tearfall when the three travellers rode onto the causeway and out of the city. Tarrancrest loomed above them like a sleeping red dragon; its rough walls were the colour of dried blood.
Val glanced back at the city as they clip-clopped across the causeway. Tarrancrest was his sanctuary. Since the war with Sude had worsened, news of rebels, marksmen and mercenaries had made it even easier for him to stay within the sheltering walls of his library.
Captain Tobin led the trio down the road skirting the lake’s edge. Lady Cirinna followed while Val brought up the rear. Val’s horse had a comfortably long stride and its large, furry ears pointed forward in the direction of travel. Unlike its rider, the horse was happy to set out on a journey. Val’s gaze scanned the lake and he took lungfuls of cool air in an effort to calm his nerves.
Evidence of the war that had brought Farindell to its knees over the past five years hit them as soon as the party rode out of Tarrancrest. Despite spending his days ensconced in his library, Val had noticed that whenever he did venture out on an errand, the numbers of refugees and beggars in the streets seemed ever greater.
They passed many people walking towards Tarrancrest. Refugees from the war, the men wore threadbare breeches and shirts while the women were dressed in worn shift dresses, tied about their waists with string. Hungry faces curiously watched the well-dressed riders pass by. Many of the refugees were injured and Val wondered how far they had travelled to reach Tarrancrest. He also wondered how Tarrancrest could possibly accommodate them all. There were shelters for refugees in the city but these were almost full. Val had heard that the realmlord was considering closing the gates to all but soldiers, merchants and those on official business. Soon refugees would find no safe haven at Tarrancrest. How long before there were camps of them, starving, outside the city walls?
Many of the homes they passed were shabby cottages with thatched roofs in dire need of repair. There were plenty of stonewalled gardens, but most of them were bare. It had been a long, harsh winter and what few vegetables grew during that season had long been devoured. The local inhabitants were little better off than the refugees, Val reflected.
The cobbles that lined the causeway out of Tarrancrest soon gave way to mud. The road hugged the edge of Lake Tearfall for a while. Looking across its dark, rippling surface, Val could see the outlines of small fishing villages, clinging to the shore like barnacles on the back of a great whale. The early morning mist had now evaporated and the landscape around the travellers stood out in sharp detail.
Eventually, they left the lake behind and rode through dense forest. Here, the ground was spongy underfoot and the air was rich with the scent of ferns. They rode in silence. The sun was half-way between the eastern horizon and its zenith when the trees drew back and the travellers passed through Millford, a sparsely populated village centred around a timber mill. There were a number of these mills, scattered throughout Farindell’s forests; it was one of the few industries that had flourished during the war with Sude. Still, there were signs of the war even here. There were few young men about, and those that Val spotted were maimed. Realmlord Kaur had drafted any young man under thirty winters, leaving Farindell’s towns and villages inhabited by the old, very young and the sick.
They left Millford behind and as the morning wore on, Val found himself thinking about the road ahead. He had seen paintings of the Citadel of Lies – opal spires glowing like moonlight surrounded by virgin forest. The journey to the Citadel would take them directly north for a day or two before they cut north-west over the High Dragon-Spines. Once over the mountains they would turn west for the last leg of the trip.
After a while, the forest withdrew completely and the road widened, undulating over folds of land. Despite his nervousness, the verdant beauty of the landscape they were riding through captivated Val. Evergreens carpeted this area of Palâdnith and, unlike other parts of the continent, Farindell never lost its lushness – even in the height of summer.
They passed a number of houses; low-slung dwellings made of red clay, and as the morning progressed Val saw the first signs of spring. The tips of daffodils were pushing up through the damp earth at the roadside. The sight filled Val with relief. Somehow, the idea of undertaking this journey in spring seemed less daunting.
The day warmed and, despite himself, Val enjoyed the feel of the sun on his face. They stopped for a brief lunch at noon. Relaxing in the warmth, Val took a bite of bread and salted pork and cast his gaze over his companions. Tobin was eating his lunch, his gaze fixed on the northern horizon as he did so. Lady Cirinna had pushed back her hood and was picking at her bread without much interest.
Val gave Lady Cirinna a hesitant smile.
“Isn’t it a relief to see the sun, Milady?”
Silence answered him. He awaited a response, or a signal she had actually heard him, but none was forthcoming. After that, he did not bother attempting conversation.
When the bread and salted pork were gone, and they had sated their thirst from the flasks of water, the travellers got to their feet, brushed off their crumbs and continued on their way.
Gradually the lushness diminished and the ground became harder. The greenery disappeared as the road climbed onto higher ground. Here, the air was dryer and the lack of humidity gave the air a
chill. Val was glad of his thick cloak and many layers of clothing.
They travelled north, watching as the sun made its way from east to west and the shadows slowly lengthened. Eventually, a rippling ocean of red and gold grasses surrounded them. When dusk crept across the land, Tarrancrest lay far to the south.
***
The Red Tussock Inn was a squat structure with a thatched roof and walls made from mud and stone. It lay stretched out over the ridge of hills and appeared as if it were trying to snuggle into the earth itself. Behind the inn’s low-slung silhouette, the sun set in a crimson blaze, promising good weather for the following day.
Winters were bleak up here in the hills. Val felt the evening’s cool bite through his clothing and imagined the inn-keeper would have to be a hardy soul to withstand such a life. He was not wrong. A huge man with a mane of blond hair and a splendid beard to match came out to meet the three riders. The giant was flanked by two grizzled wolf hounds – impressive beasts with hungry stares. Behind the inn-keeper, his heavily pregnant young wife appeared at the entrance of the inn.
Val was captivated – the inn-keeper’s wife was a beauty with hair the colour of ripe corn and sea-blue eyes. Even the signs of a hard life: chapped hands and weather-beaten skin could not dim her comeliness. Val caught himself staring and he hurriedly looked away. Would he ever be lucky enough to find such a lovely woman? Bringing his horse to a halt, Val dismounted, stifling a groan of pain as his thigh muscles screamed from a day in the saddle.
“Hendel Wulf is my name,” their host boomed. “Welcome to the Red Tussock – where a fine meal, strong wine and a soft bed awaits. Bring your horses through here to the stables and my lad will see to them.”
Val followed Roth Tobin and Lady Cirinna through into the stable-yard. There, a shy young man took their horses.
“Mind you rub them down properly boy,” Tobin growled as he handed over the reins, “because I’ll know if you don’t.”
“Yes, of...of course sir,” the young man stammered before turning scarlet.
Val handed over his own horse with an apologetic smile. However, the stable-hand was so cowed by Tobin that he would not meet his gaze.
Following the others inside, Val stepped through the threshold. It was a relief to be out of the cold. The interior of the Red Tussock Inn was more spacious than it first appeared, and a lot more comfortable. Dried flowers hung from the low, wood-beam ceiling. Horse-brasses and decorative plates had been set into mud walls and the floor was packed dirt covered in rush matting.
The three travellers hung their cloaks on pegs beside the door and took a seat near the open fireplace dominating the far wall of the room. Val was surprised to see the Red Tussock had quite a few visitors this evening, as he would have imagined the inn’s isolation only brought in a trickle of travellers. The booths that lined the wall opposite the fireplace were all taken and a row of men perched on stools next to the counter where Hendel Wulf served tankards of home-brewed ale and wine.
The other occupants of the room were all men, and they studied the newcomers with interest. Self-conscious, Val avoided their stares. He knew that the three of them must look a curious party but he did not like the shifty way some of the men were eyeing them. They talked in rough, drunk voices. Most were dressed in mud-caked leathers, and they had matted hair and unkempt beards. Val wondered who they were and where they were from. Rather than merchants, trappers or hunters, Val imagined these men were mercenaries and Sude spies. There was a soothsayer among them; a corpulent man in filthy purple robes. Val had seen a few soothsayers in Tarrancrest. Like most people, he did not trust them. This soothsayer fixed the newcomers with a greedy stare and Val wondered how long it would take him to approach them.
Captain Tobin ignored the inn’s other occupants. Likewise, Lady Cirinna sat, warming her hands in front of the fire. She appeared completely closed off from her surroundings, as if she sat alone. Not bothering to try to engage either of them in conversation for the moment, Val’s gaze moved from watching two men sharing a raucous joke at the bar, to where a door led through to the kitchens. From there, the toothsome aroma of roasting meat and baking pastry wafted out into the common area.
Hendel Wulf’s lovely wife, Ariana, emerged from the kitchens and visited the inn’s newest arrivals at the fireside. Watching her approach, Val struggled not to blush. Ariana reminded him of Lady Miranda of River’s End – Lady Cirinna’s cousin. Lady Miranda had lived at Tarrancrest for a while. Radiant, with the same tumbling gold curls, laughing eyes and milky skin as Ariana, Lady Miranda never even knew Val existed; but that had not stopped Val from longing for her. When Lady Miranda was married off to the realmlord of Sude’s son, he had been devastated.
“Your bags have been taken to your rooms and my husband is bringing your drinks,” Ariana announced, interrupting Val’s reverie. “This evening we have three choices for your dinner. There is rabbit pie; the rabbit is braised in thyme, plum wine and bacon and topped with a suet crust. There is mutton served with potatoes roasted in rosemary, garlic and goose fat – or you can have the Traveller’s Platter, which has two types of cheese – sheep and goat – dry cured sausages and ham, pickled onions and fresh bread. Hendel makes the cheese, sausages and ham himself.”
“Mutton,” Captain Tobin grunted, not remotely impressed by the delicious menu the inn-keeper’s wife had just presented. The soldier lit up his pipe and stretched his long legs out in front of the fire.
“I’ll have the rabbit pie please,” Val added with a shy smile.
“And you m’lady?” Ariana looked at Lady Cirinna expectantly.
The girl was staring into the fire as if the inn-keeper’s wife had not spoken.
“Milady?”
A strained silence stretched out.
“Lady Cirinna,” Val prompted, embarrassed, “answer her.”
Lady Cirinna Kaur blinked but gave no other indication that she had heard. Then, Captain Tobin reached across, gripped Lady Cirinna by the upper-arm and shook her.
“Order your meal, girl,” he growled.
Lady Cirinna shrank away from the captain, her face rigid and her eyes hostile. This time, however, she complied.
“The platter,” she whispered.
Tobin let go of her arm and sat back in his chair, watching Lady Cirinna under hooded lids.
Hendel Wulf brought their drinks – three earthen mugs and a large jug of plum wine. Grateful for a distraction from the tension between Tobin and Lady Cirinna, Val poured himself a large mug of wine and took a gulp, and then another. The wine was rich and spicy. By the time he had finished half his mug, Val could feel his shoulders beginning to relax. He leaned back against his seat and enjoyed the fire’s warmth seeping into his weary body. Captain Tobin downed his mug of wine in three gulps before pouring himself another. He was onto his third by the time Hendel Wulf brought the food.
“I’ll get you another jug,” the inn-keeper whisked the empty jug away and returned moments later with another, “I’m glad to see you enjoy our home-brewed wine. That’s Ariana’s specialty!”
“Compliments to her then,” Val replied. The wine made him overcome his usual reticence.
“I’ll be sure to pass your compliments on to her,” Hendel replied with a knowing smile. Val felt his face heat up, embarrassed that Hendel Wulf had seen through him so easily. He suspected the inn-keeper was used to patrons admiring his wife.
Cheeks burning, Val turned his attention to his rabbit pie. It was indeed delicious and, like Tobin, who had enjoyed his roast mutton and potatoes, Val ordered a second helping. Even Lady Cirinna managed to pick her way through most of her Traveller’s Platter. Afterwards, Ariana Wulf brought out hot honey seed-cakes and some more plum wine, this time served hot and spiced, to finish the meal.
It was at the point that the soothsayer, who had been observing them keenly all evening, slid off his stool and approached them.
“For just two bronze dracs apiece I can read your fortunes,” he whispered
into Val’s ear.
Val cringed away from the man’s foul breath.
“No thank you.”
“For just two bronze dracs,” the soothsayer whined. “You must have all heard – there’s an eclipse coming! Don’t you want to know what’s in store for you? It’s a bargain and I can tell you everything you’ve ever wanted to know about your future.”
Captain Tobin loomed over the soothsayer, grabbed the collar of his robes and shoved him back towards the bar.
“Bother someone else with your cheap tricks.”
The soothsayer hastily backed off, although Val could see the resentment on his face. Still, Val was relieved that Tobin had intervened. Mellowed by the excellent food and drink, Val forgot his earlier resolve not to bother trying to converse with his companions. Perhaps Tobin was warming towards him. Val took a sip of his mulled wine to bolster his confidence.
“Captain Tobin, how long have you served Lord Kaur?”
Tobin swallowed a mouthful of seed-cake and gave Val an irritated look.
“Long enough. Long before you arrived at Tarrancrest. Long before Lord Kaur married and had children.”
“Were you born at Tarrancrest?”
Tobin shook his head. “I was born in a pox-cursed village just outside of River’s End. I left that place on my twelfth birthday and have had no desire to return ever since.”
“I suppose you’ve never needed to,” Val agreed, imagining that Tobin’s family must have been relieved to see him go. “You must have travelled widely over the years though?”
Tobin’s mouth curled into a sneer. “Are you planning to write my memoirs? What do you care where I’ve travelled or what I’ve seen?”
Val felt a stab of annoyance at Tobin’s rudeness but emboldened by the copious amount of wine he had consumed, he pressed on.
“Since we are travelling companions, surely learning something of each other will make the trip more pleasant?” he replied evenly.
Tobin snorted into his mulled wine.
Journey of Shadows (The Palâdnith Chronicles Book 1) Page 9
