“It seems I will be leaving,” she said.
“I could come with you.”
Imogen smiled at him, then flicked her gaze back to the city. “We both know this is not something you can be a part of.”
“If you’re taking on a Sul’toral, I’m not sure it’s something you can do either.”
“Maybe not, but I can make sure Timo doesn’t get himself killed. And perhaps I can intervene.”
He frowned at her. “How?”
“I think he needs to return to our homeland.” She turned to the northeast. That might be the only way she could truly help Timo. “Which means I will need to return with him.”
Gaspar slipped his arm around her shoulders. “You know I’m always going to be here for you.”
“I know.”
“And if there’s anything I can do…”
“I know.”
“I wish—”
Imogen turned and locked eyes with him. “Yoran is your place. Perhaps it could be mine. But this is something I must do.”
Chapter Three
After walking for several days, Imogen felt exhausted. Gaspar had offered her enchantments to ride, though she knew better than to attempt something like that. Not only would Timo refuse to ride an enchantment but doing so would draw unnecessary attention to them the farther they traveled. They could’ve taken horses, but she didn’t have the necessary funds to purchase them. She wasn’t about to go into debt to Gaspar right before she left, though she suspected he would’ve been more than happy to offer whatever help she wanted.
Her own two legs were good enough. She had traveled by foot after leaving her homeland, so this was no different, though it was unusual to be traveling with her brother. He had been quiet during their journey so far, almost introspective, and when he did say something, it was usually about the temperature or the time of day. Nothing of much substance. Ever since he had found her in Yoran, there had been a quietness to him. It was almost as if he didn’t want her to know what he had experienced.
She still knew so little about Timo.
They had not seen any signs of sorcery during the journey, but she kept expecting to come across something. Anything. So far, though, there had been nothing. No signs of magic, no enchantments, and no strange creatures like they had encountered in Yoran.
For that, she was thankful, but she had the feeling that Timo was not quite as appreciative. He grew increasingly sullen, and his silence left her worried.
The road twisted through the forest until she caught sight of smoke in the distance.
“It looks like a village,” she said.
“Or someone camped by the road.” Timo’s hand hovered near the hilt of his sword. He was tense, as he had seemed most of the time since she had come across him again.
“Too many different tendrils of smoke to be a campfire,” she said. She counted a half dozen streams, enough to tell her that it was at least a village, though probably not much bigger than that. “We could camp for the night.”
Timo simply nodded.
They walked awhile longer until the road curved, and the village slowly emerged. It seemed quaint, at least from a distance. Sometimes quaintness was not that at all—sometimes it was sinister. She didn’t have that feeling from this place, though.
As they neared the village, Imogen slowed, looking over to Timo. “We don’t have to stop here.”
Timo frowned, and his hand continued to hover over the hilt of his sword, as if there was a threat here that only he knew of. “We need to rest.”
She started to smile, but then she realized that he was not joking. “I could camp on the road.”
“You’ve been living in a city for years. You don’t remember what it’s like to camp under the stars.”
She resisted the urge to tell him exactly what it was that she was accustomed to. Nothing as comfortable as he liked to believe. But she didn’t need to antagonize her brother, and it would do nothing other than irritate him. They had enough difficulty as it was.
“I think you could use a warm bed as well,” she said, keeping her voice soft.
He nodded again. He stared at the village nestled in the clearing in the forest. Imogen didn’t know the name of it, though in this part of the world, the people typically named the villages after old settlers who had been through them.
A darkness flashed across Timo’s eyes as he regarded the village. Imogen had been seeing that more often these days. There was something about him that was unsettled, though he would never acknowledge that.
She guided him into the village. There were farms on the outskirts, but they were small and likely supplied only enough vegetables and grain for a few families. Anything else would have to be traded for. Given how well-traveled the road appeared to be, it didn’t strike her as terribly surprising that trade would come through here.
They passed a smattering of houses as they reached what she suspected was a tavern. Larger than some of the houses around, it was built out of a gray stone that didn’t seem to fit in, and a thick moss grew along its sides. Imogen glanced over to Timo again, who had stopped, and she watched him. She felt increasingly uncertain about him, worried about what he might do in this situation.
“Are you coming?” she asked.
“Why don’t you secure us some beds? I’m going to wander around the village.”
Imogen frowned at him. “Why do you need to do that?”
“Old habits,” he said. He forced a smile, and there was a hint of the boy she remembered, but only just. For the most part, any sign of his former self was gone.
As he departed, making his way to the northern side of the village, she watched him go. His head swiveled from side to side, and his hand never lifted from the hilt of his sword. He was on edge, as if he would find an enemy at any point.
There were no enemies here, though. There was nothing here.
She sighed and pushed open the tavern door. It was early evening, late enough that there were a few people within the establishment, but it was not quite as active as it likely would be later at night. They could’ve traveled farther, but Timo had looked as though he needed to stop, and so they had called an early halt.
Imogen made her way to the bar at the end of the tavern and leaned on the counter. She swept her gaze around her, looking for any potential threats, old habits that she had not yet abandoned. She saw nothing. Absently, she reached into her pocket, running her finger across the enchantment she carried. It was strange to be away from Yoran after all this time. Strange for her to be away from Gaspar after all this time. And now she didn’t know if or when she might return to both.
There were moments when she questioned what she was doing and why she had decided that she needed to leave. She had been happy in Yoran. But happiness did not mean fulfillment. She had learned long ago that the instant she felt settled was the exact time she needed to get moving.
“What can I get for you, stranger?” asked an old, grizzled man from the end of the counter, his eyes almost sparkling. He had a thick gray beard and a portly belly with grease stained across it. She liked him immediately.
“Food. Drink. And a room, if you have it.”
She pulled a stack of coins out of her pocket, setting them on the counter. She suspected that a man like this would want reassurances that he would be paid for his food and drink, along with the room, before offering it to her. She didn’t have much because she hadn’t expected to need much. Only enough coin to get her back to her homeland, and from there…
Imogen hadn’t given a lot of thought to what she would encounter once she reached their destination. Perhaps she should have.
Maybe it was time for her to start thinking about how she could serve the Leier. Timo had made comments during the journey that suggested he was giving thought to the same question, though she wondered whether he intended to remain in their homeland or if he thought to venture out and chase sorcerers again. She worried about what would be the case for him.
“I’ve got food and drink,” the man told her. “One room left, but seeing as how you’re alone, you probably won’t mind that it’s small.”
“I’m not alone,” Imogen said.
He frowned. “Well, you and your companion might be a bit cramped.”
She smiled to herself. She could already see Timo’s reaction, and she could imagine what he might say about tight accommodations.
“I’m sure my brother won’t mind. I can give him the floor.”
The barkeep chuckled, patting his stomach as he did. “Keep the bed yourself, is that it? Can’t say I blame you. Well, in that room, you might be just as well served sleeping on the floor.” He shrugged. “I’d offer you nicer accommodations, but it’s what I have.”
“I’m sure it will be fine.”
“What are you doing in Helophen?”
She hadn’t heard of the village before, but she suspected that it was the name of some founder. Maybe a prospector, miner, or even someone who owned a mill, especially with the forest surrounding everything here.
“Just passing through,” she said.
“Which way?” He wiped down a glass and filled it with an amber-colored ale.
Imogen preferred wine, but she had developed a taste for ale during her time in Yoran. She hadn’t had much choice in the matter. “East.”
“Not much to the east of us, I’m afraid. Forest, and a few scattered villages like this. Then you get the mountains, and the gods only know what’s beyond there.”
He chuckled, and Imogen said nothing. She knew what was beyond the mountains. Her homeland.
“I just make a point of not traveling too far to the north,” he said.
She tried to think about the geography of this area and came up short. What would be found here? Between Helophen and the mountains was a vast expanse of dense forest. To the north was rugged terrain, and there was the Alithan Marsh, which was essentially unlivable except for a few people who claimed it as their own. She had never visited it, though she knew there were villages propped up on stilts.
“Why is that? Trouble in the marsh?” she asked.
“Nothing so far as that,” he said, wrinkling his nose at the mention. “We still get trade out of there.”
“What kind of trade?” Imogen took a seat on a stool, genuinely curious. She hadn’t realized that there was any trade out of the marsh.
“Not as much these days as we once had. Most the time, they send us salted fish, and some hemp and rope. They have access to the Reaches, which brings in some of the more interesting spices.” He tapped his nose, smiling.
She found that surprising as well. She hadn’t realized that the marsh traded with the Reaches, though perhaps she shouldn’t be terribly surprised. The Leier, her people, did some business with them, though it was by sea. They had to sail around the Koral lands, which were otherwise impassable to them. The Koral had their own sort of sorcery, which was the reason the Leier army patrolled along the border.
“If it’s not the marsh, then what trouble have you had?” she asked.
“Nothing really specific. Just stories.”
Imogen leaned forward. If there was one thing she had learned in her time in Yoran, it was to pay attention to stories. There was always some nugget of truth within them.
She and her brother had ventured this way to return to the Leier lands, but it was more than just because of that. It was Timo’s need to chase sorcerers. His belief that there was dangerous magic out here. She didn’t think there was, which was the reason she had agreed to accompany him. Only part of the reason, she reminded herself as she thought about the dark expression in his eyes.
“I’d be interested in your stories,” she said, taking a sip of ale.
He chuckled. “Why don’t you talk to Bug over there? He’s the one who likes to tell stories. I’ll bring you a plate of food while you listen. It’ll take time.”
She frowned at him, then followed the direction of his gaze.
A thin, almost haggard man sat at a table by himself. His clothing was tattered and dirty, and his long, unkempt hair looked as if he hadn’t washed in some time. She didn’t like the idea of sitting with him, but it wasn’t the filth that bothered her—it was the wild look in his eyes.
She’d seen that look in people’s eyes before. There was a danger to it.
Imogen took her ale, and she settled down in the chair across from him. “Are you Bug?”
The man blinked for a moment, and some of the wildness departed his eyes as he looked at her. He grinned, an expression that nearly sent a shiver through her.
“I’m not here for anything other than to hear your stories,” she said flatly, “so don’t get your hopes up.”
He sniffed. “That’s a first. Usually I have to talk to a woman to be rejected by her.”
Imogen shrugged, and she took another swig of her ale. The tavern had a dampness to it that the crackling fire in the hearth did nothing to quench. “Then don’t consider it a rejection. Maybe think about it as an offer to tell me stories.” She nodded to the back of the bar where the barkeep had retreated. “He tells me that you have some stories out of the east?”
“Oh, I’m not sure you need to pay any attention to what Reventh says. He sure don’t pay attention to what I have to say.”
Imogen took another sip of ale. She had time before Timo returned. It might be better for her to get the stories out of Bug while her brother was away. She didn’t like the possibility of what he might do or say when he returned.
“Why do they call you Bug?” she asked.
He chuckled. “Usually because I’m a pest.”
“Usually?”
Bug fell silent, and she worried that she had pushed him too hard too quickly. Not that she really cared, but she didn’t want to drive him away before she had an opportunity to hear his stories. If they were traveling east, and it was the direction Timo continued pushing them, then she figured it was better to hear rumors from out that way.
“Why do you even care about stories, anyway?” Bug finally asked.
“My brother and I are traveling east. We just want to make sure the road is safe.”
“No road is safe these days.” His fingers twitched as he plucked out his cloak. Imogen ignored his dirty fingernails.
“That hasn’t been my experience,” she said.
He looked her up and down again and seemed to take in her sword for the first time. “Well, with a weapon like that, you probably are safer than most. That is, if you know how to use it.” He made a stabbing motion with his hand. “You ever poke a man to death?” He grinned as he said it.
“Yes.”
He blinked, and once again, some of the wildness left his eyes. It was faint, and she didn’t know how sane he might be. It was possible that he was half delusional from whatever he’d experienced.
“Most people don’t admit that,” he said.
Imogen nodded. “Most people don’t.” She took another sip of her ale, then leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. She tried not to take a deep breath, not wanting to smell Bug, but she noted a distinct foulness about him. “What have you seen on the road?”
“Well, if you are going to be so persistent, maybe you need to know. It might help you, especially if you’re heading that way. Danger is out there. At least, that’s what they say.” He leaned back, twisting the fabric of his cloak. He pulled a thread that came loose. “Stories about strange creatures and all.”
The barkeep came by and set the tray in front of her. Bug eyed the food, and Imogen slid it across to him. She looked at the barkeep and pointed to herself. “Why don’t you bring out one more?”
He nodded.
Bug looked down at the tray of food, his eyes suspicious.
“What kind of strange creatures?” Imogen asked.
“Things that can’t be. Stone coming alive. The earth itself trying to grab you. Beings that are half man, half wolf.” He shook his head. “Can’t say I’ve seen that mysel
f, but I have seen stone that seemed to follow me.” He frowned, then hurriedly grabbed the hunk of bread and took a quick bite. While he ate, he wrapped his arm in front of the tray, as if to keep Imogen from stealing it back from him. “Then there are the stranger stories. Fog that seems to swallow you. Night that never ends.” He let out a laugh. “Even the dead coming back. But they’re just stories. That’s all they are.” He glanced at her ale, and Imogen shoved the mug across to him. He fell silent as he dove into the rest of his food.
Imogen decided not to push. She would let Bug eat, at least for now. She could learn what she needed from him after he had his fill. Until then, she would leave him alone.
A chair shifted near her, and Imogen looked up.
“That’s all they are,” another man said from a nearby table. He was younger, well-dressed, and had two empty mugs in front of him. A couple of older men sitting at a table behind him looked up from their game of dominos before pointedly turning back.
“Don’t mind him,” the stranger said, gesturing to Bug. “He comes out of the marsh. Men like him get a little soiled, if you know what I mean.” He made a circular motion with his finger, twisting it by his head, and he rolled his eyes. “He claims he sees things every time he’s come here. Been doing that his whole life.”
“Have not,” Bug said. “And there hasn’t been anything until recently. Just the normal road troubles.” He finished chewing, and he looked over to Imogen while taking a sip of her ale. “I deal with vithan and olar all the time. These things are different.”
Imogen knew of the vithan, though she’d never seen them. They were small, foxlike creatures with wide-set eyes and sharp fangs. They hunted in the forests nearby and were rarely spotted. She would not expect anyone to even know of them. The only reason she did was because she had once seen a pelt. When she’d asked the fur trader about it, he had made a point of telling her that it was the only one he ever caught. He wanted an enormous sum for that one fur, claiming that it had medicinal qualities.
Unbonded (First of the Blade Book 1) Page 3