“Willem! Where’s that torch, boy?” Abiah shouted on Ayrion’s right. His breathing was labored as he struggled to keep swinging. “Hold that thing up so I can see what I’m fighting!”
Ayrion pivoted to the right and hacked off the right arm of one and the left arm of another as they both lunged for him at the same time. He was about to slit their throats when a vulraak grabbed Bek’s leg and pulled it out from under him.
Ayrion saw him go down out of the corner of his eye. Swinging wildly, he fought to reach him, cutting, stabbing, hacking at those in front, but the creatures’ press was relentless. He didn’t dare pull back to help, or they’d be overrun.
“Abiah! Get over—”
A pulse of energy knocked Ayrion to the side and sent the creatures on top of Bek flying backward. “Get him up!” Zynora shouted, already retreating toward the split in the tunnel.
Ayrion grabbed Bek and hauled him to his feet. Bek’s thick furs must have saved him from any permanent damage. He shook himself off, grabbed his hatchets, and was back at the front alongside Ayrion.
The heat of Ayrion’s magic poured through his arms, fueling his rage as he fought to hold the creatures off long enough for his fighters to make it past the split. He glanced over his shoulder every chance he got, which wasn’t often. The last time he’d looked, the merging tunnels were within a stone’s throw.
Behind him, his fighters were giving everything they had to keep from being completely flanked on both sides.
Finally, they broke through.
Ayrion was the last out of the forked tunnel. Bodies of men, women, and vulraaks lined the ground, making it hard to see where to step.
“Fall back! Fall back!” Ayrion shouted to those behind, grateful they weren’t fighting the creatures from two sides any longer.
Abiah cried out on Ayrion’s right and stumbled backward, his sword falling from his hands as a large vulraak raked his arm. He tried retrieving the weapon, but another clawed his leg, and he went down.
“Pa!” Willem leaped on the vulraak and sank his dagger into its back. He lit the second one on fire with his torch, but before he could pull his dagger free, a third vulraak punched him in the chest, knocking the torch from his hand.
Ayrion tried to reach him, but the vulraaks grabbed the boy’s cloak and jerked him into their ranks before he could get there.
Willem screamed as he disappeared from view.
“Willem!” Abiah grabbed hold of the closest creature and sank his teeth into its neck and ripped out its throat. Spitting away the dark blood, the taverner grabbed his sword and pushed himself to his feet. “Willem, I’m coming!”
It was too late.
“Abiah, get out of there!” Bek cut the head off the vulraak he’d been fighting and grabbed Abiah by his jacket, yanking him off his feet and back into their own ranks.
“No! Willem!” Abiah shouted, swinging his fist at anyone trying to stop him. The big trapper smacked him across the face. “Keep fighting or we all die!”
Tears streamed down Abiah’s face as he moved back into line and sunk his sword into the next creature.
The fighting seemed to last forever. Ayrion’s hands were growing numb from gripping his swords. He wasn’t going to be able to last much longer.
Without warning, the creatures suddenly pulled back. Confused, Ayrion glanced over his shoulder and saw the light of the sun shining in from the mouth of the mine just behind him. They had somehow managed to fight their way back to the entrance.
Ayrion was the last one out, arms shaking as he struggled to catch his breath. This fight was far from over. They had just poked the hornet’s nest, and all they could do now was wait for the swarm.
Chapter 60 | Ferrin
FERRIN GUIDED HIS MOUNT through the gates leading into Iraseth. The dry road shot puffs of dust into the air, marbling his horse’s legs and underbelly. The dirt was eventually replaced by layered cobble as they neared the busier section of town.
Iraseth rested against the foothills of the Razor Spine Mountains, surrounded by Thornwood Forest on one side and Virn Run on the other. Being so far removed from Aramoor, Ferrin had expected to find a smaller township of simple mountain folk, but instead, he found a thriving city with varying degrees of culture.
The last time Ferrin had traveled this way had been from the back of a Black Watch prison wagon. After his attempted escape at Syrel, Captain Hatch had skirted Iraseth altogether to keep any more of his prisoners from following in Ferrin’s footsteps. Needless to say, he’d never gotten the chance to actually see the city for himself.
Steering his horse to the right side of the road to make way for yet another set of heavily laden wagons, Ferrin eventually brought his weary band of runaways to a stop just inside what appeared to be Iraseth’s main shopping district.
Myron made a rather dramatic show of swinging off his horse to stretch his aching muscles. “I need sleep,” he grumbled, rubbing a finger under his dark-rimmed eyes. “You might be able to go on forever, smith, but these tired bones are nearing utter collapse.”
Ferrin smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ll have us all a warm bed for the night, and by the look of you, a hot bath as well.”
“You’re one to talk,” Myron jeered. “When was the last time you saw your own face? That bush hides all your pretty features, my friend.”
Ferrin noticed Rae bobbed her head in agreement. “I guess I could use a shave, at that,” he said, running a gloved hand down both sides of his face. “Although, I have to admit it’s growing on me.”
Rae turned her head, but not before she stuck her tongue out at the idea.
Ferrin smiled and twisted in the saddle to get a better look at the city proper. It was busy with people hurrying from one shop to the next, mothers watching their children play in a grassy area at the center of the square. He couldn’t help but smile as he watched the kids toss around an old leather ball.
Suri eyed the scene with growing curiosity. For that matter, so did her mother. Neither had ever seen a real city before. Their eyes darted nervously back and forth as they took it all in.
“Are you at all familiar with Iraseth?” Ferrin asked Myron.
Myron didn’t answer right away. He was too busy staring at a nearby bistro as the scent of fresh-cooked meat floated from its chimney stack. “Been here a time or two,” he finally said.
“Know any good places to bed down for the night, somewhere off the beaten path?”
Myron smiled sheepishly. “I think I might know a place. It’s right off the water. You’ll like it.” His smile brightened even further. “Best river-cat stew you’ll find around these parts for sure, and rhubarb pie that’ll make your mouth sing.”
“Cat?” Ferrin had eaten quite a few types of meat before but never that.
“A river cat is a fish.”
“Oh.” Ferrin turned and looked at the shops, reading the signs lining both sides of the street. “We’re going to need to restock while we’re here. No telling how long it’ll be till we reach another community large enough to buy from.”
Myron stifled another yawn. “I also wouldn’t mind laying my hands on a good map.”
Ferrin nodded, smiling at Suri’s giggles as she watched the children running around, shouting and laughing as they passed their ball up and down both sides of the open grass. Even Rae had a smile on her face as she watched, something Ferrin had rarely seen. It was a nice smile, and it lasted up until the point she caught him staring, then disappeared.
Myron mounted, and they left the shopping district and the children’s games behind. The smell of fish grew stronger as they navigated the backstreets in the direction of the river. Passing the last of the dock warehouses, Ferrin spotted open water ahead and something he didn’t expect. The city actually extended into the river, to a raised island that rested just offshore.
Veering back onto the main thoroughfare once again, Myron guided them across a stone bridge, its pilings rising at least twenty feet from the river�
�s surface. The two- and three-story buildings lining the outer rim of the island were high enough to look out across the central parts of the city.
Some of the buildings, the ones that fronted the island’s rocky edge, had long switchback staircases that led from the backs down to the piers below. From the bridge, Ferrin could see an assortment of fishermen hauling in the day’s catch while longboatmen guided their flats toward the docks on the far side of the river.
Seeing all the water, Rae grabbed a tight hold of her reins, and Suri grabbed a tight hold on her.
Taking the first road to the left, Myron brought them to a stop in front of a three-story building that passed for a riverfront inn and tavern. The sign swinging from the front bore the faded image of a large fish leaping out of the water. It read THE SMELLY TROUT, and after taking a brief whiff, Ferrin agreed.
They dismounted and walked their horses around to the side, where there was a single-story stable. Standing on solid ground felt awkward after having spent so much time in the saddle. Ferrin’s legs kept wanting to part as he walked.
After stabling the horses, they collected their gear and made their way through a side entrance. The main room was warm and well lit, and the smell of fish was even stronger inside, if that was possible, although Ferrin had to admit that whatever seasonings had been mixed in with the fish were making his mouth water.
There were a number of tables and chairs scattered across the room with a stone hearth on the side and a few benches lining the far wall.
“Can I help you folks?” an elderly man asked, walking out from the back with a stained apron that hung all the way to his knees. His grey hair was disheveled, and he had what looked like flour on his face.
Myron took the lead. “We’re looking for a couple of rooms and a hot meal.”
The old man smiled. “You’ve come to the right place, then.” He walked across the room and held out his hand. “The name’s Tibble.”
Myron shook it. “I’m Myron.” He turned to the others. “That’s Ferrin, Rae, and Suri.”
“Nice to meet you all,” Tibble said with a bright smile. “Are you in for the winter festival?”
“Just traveling through, I’m afraid,” Myron said.
“Too bad. It gets quite lively around here during the festivities.” Tibble looked them over, stopping on Rae and Suri. “How many rooms do you need?”
“Three if possible, but we can make do with two if one of the rooms has a large-enough bed.” Myron looked at Ferrin and smiled. “No offense, but you’re smelling pretty ripe at the moment.”
Ferrin chuckled. “Trust me, I’m not the only one.”
“The washroom’s on the first floor in the back,” Tibble said. “I’ll lay out some fresh towels and warm the water.” He glanced at the stairs near the back leading up to the second floor. “I think we can manage three rooms.”
“Wonderful,” Myron said.
Ferrin agreed. It was worth the extra coin for the chance to sleep in a real bed.
Tibble stepped into the back for a moment, then returned with a set of keys. He led them up a flight of stairs, narrow enough that only one person could climb at a time. Ferrin had to duck to keep from scraping his head on the low rafters. At the top of the stairs was a hallway, not much wider than the staircase, with rooms interspersed.
“Here are your keys,” Tibble said, unhooking them from the ring and handing all three to Myron. “Your rooms are on the end; numbers match the keys. The missus has a fresh batch of chowder on the fire and some dark rye in the oven. You look like you’ve seen some long hours today.”
Myron grunted. “You have no idea, my friend, and I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than sample some of that fine chowder I’m smelling. Well, apart from maybe sleeping for a week, that is.”
The old man grinned. He was missing all but a few of his back teeth; Ferrin hoped that wasn’t a sign of the strength of the stew.
Tibble turned to leave, but Myron caught his arm before he made it to the steps. “You wouldn’t know if the cook will be serving rhubarb tonight, would you?”
“Aye,” the old man said, smacking his gums. “Best pies in town.” He took a moment to study Myron’s face. “You sound as though you’ve been here before.”
“I have, but it’s been a couple of seasons. Last time I was here, I ate an entire pie myself. I haven’t tasted anything that’s come close to matching it since.”
The old man beamed with pride. “No one can whip up a tastier pie than my Kyleen.” He glanced at the others. “If you gents and ladies need anything, I’ll be more than happy to help.”
Ferrin watched the old man hobble back down the stairs before making his way toward their rooms. After unlocking Rae’s room, he unloaded her and Suri’s gear on the single bed in the corner. “I’ll be in the next room if you need anything, and Myron is right across the hall.”
He left Rae to her unpacking and went to check on his own room. The small chamber was a mirror image of Rae’s. At the back was a single-shuttered window that opened out over the river. The bed was on the right side, and a small table near the door held a candle and a small washbasin with a drying cloth. In the left corner was an armoire for his clothes and a three-legged stand beside the bed with a lit reflector lamp sitting on top.
The rooms were a bit cramped, but for the luxury of being off the beaten path, and for the price, he could hardly complain. After taking the time to unpack, Ferrin waited for the others to finish washing before availing himself of the water and soap. It had been a long time since he’d enjoyed a warm bath. By the time he got out, his skin was wrinkled, and the water was cold and certainly too dirty to reuse. He shaved the thick whiskers from his face with a razor provided by Tibble and changed into a new shirt, one that wasn’t quite so soiled. Afterward, he joined the others in the main room for some of that promised chowder and rhubarb pie. It was the best meal he’d eaten since leaving Rhowynn.
The last couple of months had been a blur, almost as if they had been nothing more than a bad dream, a nightmare he had endured but now had awakened from. It didn’t feel real. He wanted to pinch himself and find he was still dreaming, that there was no one chasing him, that his sister was safe, and that he would be able to return to his little smithy as though nothing had ever happened.
Finishing his second helping of pie, Ferrin laid his fork across the empty platter in front of him. He was tempted to lick the plate clean as well. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed a normal meal, sitting around a table with friends, or in this case, a band of escaped convicts. The only thing keeping him from completely relaxing were the looks Rae, Suri, and even Myron kept throwing his way. Finally, he couldn’t take it any longer.
“Is it really that bad?” he asked, rubbing his smooth chin.
Rae worked her pie to one side of her mouth in order to respond. “You look . . . different.”
“Is that good or bad?”
She grunted with a shrug, which for Rae most likely meant good.
“You clean up well,” Myron said, raising his glass in salute.
Out of the corner of his eye, Ferrin continued to catch Rae peeking at him when she thought he wasn’t looking.
Ferrin waited until after Kyleen, the innkeeper’s wife, had finished collecting their payment—along with praise from both Myron and Ferrin for the delicious meal—before addressing the others. “We need weapons. A pair of swords and a few belt daggers won’t be enough to defend ourselves if we run into any real resistance.”
“We could have used a few good crossbows during that wolf attack,” Myron added, slowly sipping the rest of his ale. “And to bring down those corax that have been stalking us.”
Ferrin nodded. “I’d like to get my hands on a good forge for the night. If I can forge us one or two of my blades, it would certainly help our odds in a confrontation.”
“Magical blades?” Myron leaned forward, eagerness in his eyes. An impish grin spread from one corner of his mouth to
the other. “I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on one of those myself.”
“Well, if you can take Rae and Suri with you and get the supplies, I’m going to start looking for a smithy who’ll be willing to rent me his shop for the evening. I have a feeling it’s not going to be as easy as it sounds.”
Ferrin pushed his chair back from the table.
“Maybe we don’t want to look for supplies,” Rae said. “Maybe we would rather do something else.”
Ferrin was a bit startled by the comment. Myron apparently was as well, as both men stood there staring, not knowing what to say. Sometimes he forgot about her previous situation at the White Tower and the abuse they had suffered. “I apologize. Was there something you wanted to do in particular?”
She thought for a moment, looked down at her plate, then thought some more. “No.”
Ferrin waited. “So, you don’t want to help Myron with the supplies?”
She stared at him. “I don’t mind. I would just prefer to be asked.” With that said, she stood from the table and headed for the side entrance, Suri right beside her.
Ferrin and Myron shared a glance. “Guess that’s my cue,” Myron said as he stood as well.
Ferrin followed him up. He handed Myron one of their smaller coin purses carrying only a few of the gold pieces he’d stolen during his escape. “Here, this should get us what we need for now. And find something nice if you can for the two of them.”
Myron grimaced. “It’s been years since I’ve purchased for a woman. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
“Just take her and Suri around to some of the shops and see if anything catches their eye.” He shrugged. “Shouldn’t be that hard.”
Myron gave him a look like he was crazy before hanging the coin pouch around his neck and walking out the door. Ferrin waited until they were gone before heading into the back to talk with Tibble. He hoped the old innkeeper could point him in the direction of a few good smithies.
Chapter 61 | Ferrin
SURPRISINGLY ENOUGH, with Tibble’s suggestions, it didn’t take Ferrin all that long to find a reputable smith willing to rent out his forge. All it took was a simple test of Ferrin’s knowledge of how to work a forge and, more importantly, a down payment of six silver pieces, which was more money than any fair-priced smith in Rhowynn would have earned in half a month.
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