Garrett’s voice raised in pitch and ire as he tried to roll Athan onto his side. “Watch the ruts!”
“I’m trying!” came a harassed reply. “You want I should stop and fill them in first?”
Phineaus. Recognition of the voice came to Athan as he sputtered a spattering wet cough into a cloth held up to his mouth by Garrett. After Athan regained his ability to breathe, Garrett gently helped him settle back down on the cushioned bench in Phineaus’s wagon. With great effort, Athan managed to crack open the crust on his eyelids and squint past the headache to take in his surroundings.
Strips of colored cloth, strung glass beads and an unlit everbright lantern swayed above him from a wood beam arching overhead. The beads clinked against one another, along with a few metal chimes, giving each jostle of the wagon a musical accompaniment. In the wagon’s ceiling, a hatch had been raised to offer fresh air and sunlight into the room. And, the wagon’s interior did indeed look like a room, complete with a rug, dark blue drapes hung over a window, the wooden bench bed on which he rested and a foldable table next to the stool on which Garrett sat. An iron pot belly stove tucked into one corner made Athan blink, but he supposed it would make sense of Phineaus to have some source of heat if he did indeed live in this tiny portable house, which Athan had only before seen from the outside. Like the vibrantly painted outside, the inside’s decor and color palette was just as whimsical. It actually made Athan a bit dizzy.
As the room began to spin, Athan’s wandering gaze finally settled on Garrett. The blond headed man’s light blue eyes were watching Athan as if he might die at any moment. The deep worry adding lines to Garrett’s typically aloof, porcelain expression gave Athan the idea that death wasn’t an impossibility. It certainly felt like he could die, and in a way, death could be looked at as a relief to the pain, and the shame, he felt.
“It’s good to see you awake.” Garrett managed a weak smile. “How do you feel? Well, aside from the obvious.”
“Is it...” Athan struggled to take in the next breath but pushed through the knifing discomfort. “Is it that obvious?”
Garrett rolled his eyes and let out of heavy sigh. “Laying at Demroth’s doorstep, and still he makes jokes.”
“You-” Athan winced then exhaled as the pain momentarily passed. “You like my jokes.”
“I like you,” Garrett argued. “I put up with your horrible sense of humor.”
Athan smiled at Garrett’s admission, but the smile was short lived. Another hard bump had him coughing again and Garrett cursing at Phineaus’s driving. Athan watched the colored glass beads reflecting what sunlight was allowed to pass through the curtains covering the window and the raised hatch in the roof. The wagon settled back into a more gentle wobble while Garrett muttered about the crown spending too much of the people’s taxes on burning farms instead of maintaining roads.
Once the pain in his chest had subsided back to a more tolerable level, Athan finally worked up the nerve to ask, “Has there been any word of her?”
Garrett looked off to the side, and his long fingers fidgeted restlessly in his lap under the lacy frills edging burgundy silk cuffs. “No. At least, nothing confirmed.”
“And unconfirmed?” Athan pressed as Garrett went quiet.
Garrett frowned. “Best to not rely on rumors, Athan.”
Athan reached over and touched the man’s knee. Garrett stopped fidgeting and inhaled deeply before deflating into a sigh. What he said next came as news Athan never expected.
“Jenny returned from Haden’s Crossing this morning with rumors of a dragon.”
Athan blinked, certain the sharp knife in his chest had caused him to mishear. “A dragon?”
“Yes, a dragon,” Garrett replied flatly. “Which is why one does not give credit to rumor.”
Athan stared up at the dangling glass beads. A dragon wouldn’t exactly be the most unbelievable thing to have happened in the past two weeks. He could also tell by the way Garrett avoided meeting his eyes that the man had more than mere rumors to share. “Tell me everything Jenny said.”
Garrett opened his mouth, closed it again then scowled. “Well, she said your mule is actually your brother,” Garrett huffed, sounding offended at being kept in the dark. “Shall we start with that?”
Athan frowned up at the beads. “What do you want me to say? I assume she told you about the raven, too?”
“Yes, and I plan on going bird hunting later.” Garrett uncrossed his legs then crossed them the other way with another agitated huff. After a quiet breath, his voice softened. “I want to know why you didn’t trust me, Athan.”
Yes, Garrett was certainly offended. Athan rolled his head to the side to look over at him, Garrett’s profile cast in patches of sunlight and shadow. They’d known each other for years, and denying their friendship had become part of why their friendship had always worked. The immediate distaste for Garrett’s opulent attire and outward snobbery had fragmented once Athan had figured it all out to be a mask which hid a fragile heart worn too close to the surface and a bottomless compassion protectively concealed under an air of indifference.
They both wore masks for the world to see, and Garrett had seen past the one Athan wore around Lee’s Mill; a kind hearted, unselfish forester who was easy to smile and helped others without hesitation. Athan wasn’t unselfish. Every smile and gift and opportunity to help had held its own motive. Beothen gave him access to the guards and allowed him to come and go from Lee’s Mill without harassment. Tobin always knew the truths and rumors around town, and Penna’s cornbread really was the best in the kingdom. Phineaus had access to rare things Athan needed, and Garrett held the reigns of bureaucracy in the area, even if his father held the official titles. These connections and favors helped Athan survive and create the trap he’d one day need, a trap that had quickly unraveled around him when its intended target had turned out to be so much less of a monster than himself. Then, to have those people he’d conned and cajoled come to his aid? That bitter knife dug deeper and hurt more than the silver one in his chest ever could.
No, Athan was not a good man, and Garrett was the only one in Lee’s Mill to see it. For that, he supposed, he owed Garrett the truth. Even if he wasn’t sure what the truth was anymore.
“Would you have believed me?” Athan asked.
Garrett snorted. “I would’ve thought you blightmad, but that’s not the point.”
“No, I don’t suppose it is.” Athan gazed back up at the strips of colored cloth and swaying beads. “Trust doesn’t come easy to me, not since...”
“Not since a mage dressed as a raven turned your brother into a mule?” Garrett finished. “I suppose I can understand that. It is all rather absurd.”
“This whole world is absurd.” Athan coughed. “Magic and dragons and gods taking girls hostage in towers.”
“Towers that fell into ruin centuries ago,” Garrett added. “I had Jenny check the land registries while in Haden’s Crossing. No one has claimed ownership nor built anything in the Thorngrove in the six hundred years that Haden’s records go back to. It’s protected land, the entire forest from Farfield to the Axeblades to the Ashfall River. No one can say by whom, but not even the crown can stake claim there. Rumors say those that have tried were never seen again.”
“But you saw the tower,” Athan argued, the news not unexpected even if leaving the tower’s existence unexplained. “Broken as it is, it’s still there.”
“Oh, I saw it. Doesn’t change the fact that it shouldn’t be there, or that Dnara couldn’t have possibly lived there... At least, not recently,” Garrett finished reluctantly.
Athan, too, felt reluctant to put all the pieces together in the pattern they seemed to fit best. “Could magic do that? Make the tower appear older, or...” He didn’t finish the thought, the impossible stretching into the unfathomable.
Garrett leaned back into the sunbeam. “You, my friend, are asking the wrong person. I wouldn’t have thought it possible for a mage to tu
rn a boy into an animal, but here we are. I mean, there are stories of such magic, certainly; fables and legends and old wives’ tales.”
“Magic isn’t what it used to be,” Phineaus said, suddenly joining the conversation through a small wooden panel slid open behind the driver’s bench.
“Shouldn’t you be watching the road?” Garrett fumed. “I asked for less bumps, not to be blindly steered into a ditch!”
“Calm yourself, Master Garrett,” Phineaus grinned through a thick curly beard. “Treven is now driving, leading my oxen around those ruts you wish to avoid.”
As Garrett swallowed his ire, Phineaus turned the grin on Athan. “It is good to see you awake, my friend! Your brother has been worried, pacing and neighing and flicking his withers at every passing cart.”
Athan attempted to sit up but only got a few inches before the pain stopped him. “You don’t seem all that alarmed about my mule being my brother, ...or rather that my brother is a mule.”
Phineaus let out his signature belly laugh. “Oh, lad, if you knew the things I know, saw the things I’ve seen, a man as a mule or a mule as a man would not be a shock to you, either.”
Hearing those words, and even seeing Phineaus’s plump face through the tiny opening, gave Athan some comfort. Phineaus, for all his antics and colorful nature, was a well-traveled, well-intending man. Perhaps if anyone could help shed light on recent events, it would be this world-wise salesman. Still, Athan had to wonder how he’d ended up in the back of the peddler’s wagon.
Athan tried to return the man’s smile but ended up wincing instead. “I hope Garrett didn’t drag you into our adventure with promises of fortune and fame. You’re liable to get turned into an ox if we cross paths with that mage again.”
Phineaus laughed again. “Oh, to be an ox! To live carefree, pulling a cart from one place to the next with only the worry of my next mouthful of grass. A worse fate, I can certainly imagine.”
“I didn’t drag this fool into anything,” Garrett argued. “He came upon us as we were leaving Farfield, and he practically begged to help. ‘Sounds like an adventure!’, he said. ‘I could find fame and fortune and save a pretty girl!’, he said.” Garrett rolled his eyes then stuffed a pillow behind Athan while giving him a stern glare. “And stop moving! You think I enjoy watching you writhe in pain?”
“You think I enjoy being in pain?” Athan groused back but breathed easier now propped up by several colorful, beaded silk pillows. With a stuttering inhale and slightly less painful exhale, he looked between the two men who had yet to tell him what he really wanted to hear. “Speaking of saving the girl... Besides talk of a dragon, did Jenny find news of Dnara?”
Phineaus’s grin melted into a frown aimed at Garrett. “You have not told him?”
“I was getting to it,” Garrett replied with a scowl.
“Told me what?” Athan asked, the knife in his chest no longer satiated by the pillows.
“I didn’t think it best to rile him up,” Garrett continued as Athan now began trying to sit all the way up. It ended in Athan coughing and wheezing to catch another breath. Garret huffed and nudged him back against the pillows. “See! He’s not ready.”
“Ready for what?” Athan asked Phineaus in growing alarm as Garrett continued to avoid answering. “You know where she is, don’t you?!”
Phineaus opened his mouth then shrank away from the daggers Garrett’s eyes were throwing. “Is best you hear it from your best friend, this news.” Phineaus gave Athan a sympathetic look then closed the wooden panel and returned to watching the road.
After Phineaus departed the conversation as abruptly as he had entered it, silence lingered in the small room and hung as oppressively heavy as the weight within Athan’s chest. Garrett’s reluctance to share all he knew filled Athan with fear. Demroth could finish twisting the silver blade in his chest and take him; Demroth could take the whole world, for all Athan cared, as long as Dnara had escaped the snare around her life he’d help create.
“Please,” Athan said, reaching once more across the space between and resting a hand on Garrett’s knee. “Tell me what’s become of her.”
“A storm tore through a grove south of Haden’s Crossing,” Garrett began, his gaze cast across sunbeams. “The townspeople said it ended as suddenly as it had begun, and left broken trees and injured King’s Guard in its wake. Some swore they saw the shadow of a dragon crossing the moon, while others say it was the dark touch of Demroth. One thing they could agree on is that after the storm ended, the King’s Guard packed up their tents in the middle of the night and left in the direction of Carn at a pace marched by men chased by shadow.”
Garrett inhaled one breath then met Athan’s eyes as he exhaled the next. “A man delivering provisions to the camp said, as they were rushing to pull up their tents after having just nailed the spikes into the ground, he spied the King’s Sword himself, Lord Aldric, carrying a dark haired girl from the grove, and-” Garrett closed his eyes, his hand setting overtop of Athan’s. “And around her neck circled a collar.”
Athan’s heart stopped, and the silver blade took the opportunity to slice in deeper. He tried to form words, but he couldn’t breathe well enough to speak. A collar. Dnara had been captured and collared by the King’s Sword, and Athan couldn’t decide if it was a better or worse fate than what Melakatezra had offered.
“Breathe, Athan,” Garrett encouraged. “Jenny is on Aldric’s trail, and she’ll follow that bastard all the way to the Red Keep if she has to. She may even be able to get inside, being a blackrope.”
“And us?” Athan managed, trying to think of some plan for rescue despite the pain making it impossible to form more than a sentence. “Is that where we’re headed as well?”
Garrett grimaced and placed a hand on Athan’s shoulder, as if to keep him from leaping off the bench. “No. We’re on our way to Orynthis.”
“Orynthis!?” Athan pushed against Garrett’s prepared restraint. “That’s in the opposite direction from Dnara!”
“Exactly,” Garrett replied, his eyes narrowing and his expression stern.
Athan’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, which is exactly how his lungs felt. Through a series of coughs, he managed to reserve enough air to bluster at his best friend. “What do you mean, exactly?!”
“What’s the plan, forester?” Garrett scowled. “Going to run valiantly up the Red Keep steps, break down their massive gate and demand the king of Carnath give Dnara back to you?”
“Well, no, I,” Athan sputtered out another hacking cough and winced with a muttered curse.
“Going to sneak in, then?” Garrett offered with a tut of the tongue. “Coughing and wheezing past the guards through that maze of a castle, a castle you’ve never stepped foot in? That is, of course, if you don’t keel over first from whatever that raven mage did to you.”
“I can’t just-”
“Perhaps you’ll die in some grand gesture of gallantry!” Garrett said with a flourish and waving hand, striking his own chivalrous pose cast in sunlight. “I’m certain that will make everything right, erase all the mistakes you’ve made.”
Athan’s ire rose even if his body refused to. “Stop making light of-”
Garrett’s scowl turned venomous. “Oh, I am deadly serious, Athan. You are not going anywhere near Carn, and I will tie you down to this wagon if I have to. You are going to Orynthis.”
“But why!?”
“Because I don’t want to see you killed!” Garrett shouted back with a pained expression, his porcelain mask shattered and his heart laid bare. “And that’s exactly what would happen.”
“Garrett,” Athan wanted to argue, but he felt as lost and afraid as Garrett looked. “I have to try.”
“I know.” Garrett took in a slow breath to calm himself. “But, you can’t go run off and save the girl until you save yourself, so we are going to Orynthis. Once you are no longer on the brink of death and can walk five steps without collapsing, I swear to y
ou, Athan, I will do everything in my power to help you get Dnara back.”
The conviction in Garrett’s voice gave Athan little room to argue the man’s intent. In all honesty, Athan knew he had little chance of getting into the Red Keep, even if the room wasn’t spinning around him and he didn’t have to fight for every breath. Left with little choice, Athan sank back against the pillows as tears stung his eyes and threatened to fall.
Dnara was once more alone, imprisoned by stone walls and trapped within a collar, and he was on his way to Orynthis. “Why Orynthis?”
Garrett fussed with one of the pillows behind Athan’s head then dabbed a rogue tear from Athan’s cheek with a silk handkerchief. “Phineaus says he knows someone who can help, someone who knows about how magic used to be before the blight began devouring it along with everything else.”
“What do you mean, the blight is devouring magic?” Athan asked with an unsuccessful attempt to sit back up, but Garrett shushed his question and slipped an object into his gasp.
His fingers felt along an embossed leather cover and a soft woven scarf. Holding it up, he found a book in his hand, around which was wrapped Dnara’s scarf. The cover had an embossed design, a rune he’d never seen before, and script in a langue he couldn’t read.
“I don’t understand,” he said, looking to Garrett for answers.
“We found it in your pack. Phineaus says the script is a dead language, not spoken in over a thousand years. So, of course, being a man of many talents,” Garrett rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, as if it pained him to admit as much. “He could decipher enough to know that this word on the cover, here, is Dnara, and it was written by her keeper, Ishkar.”
“Ishkar.” Just saying the name made Athan’s blood heat and the knife in his chest slither in more sharply. Athan sucked in a deep breath to calm himself, and as he did, the knife settled back near a rib in a position that at least allowed him to breathe.
Athan touched the scarf, smiling at its embroidered green leaves and yellow sunberries. “If it’s hers, then perhaps we shouldn’t let Phineaus decipher any more of it.”
When the Wind Speaks (Starstone Prophecies Book 1) Page 35