Within the Broken Bow Inn, Limbreth studiously ignored Gweld from the seat she'd found near Hastra. After several more rounds, she left for a room on the second floor, her face still blank, concealing her true emotions.
Magdronu-as-Gweld drank his fill and then sauntered off in search of Athson to hear the tale of his woe with the high-minded Limbreth.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Hastra watched Limbreth squirm her way across the crowded common room after she excused herself. She'd spoken hardly a word since returning alone from her foray out back with Athson. Clearly the conversation had gone poorly. What had Athson said that silenced Limbreth, his faithful support during their long journey, so thoroughly?
Zelma's eyes followed the flow of the crowd. She loved the company of people, but her long time upon Eagle's Aerie had left her shy. Not that she wasn't a bit so when they were young, but Zelma so loved hearing all the latest news. "Ooh, that's interesting, there."
Hastra arched a single eyebrow. "Which bit? I hear much."
"So do I. But some are much more important than others." She smiled almost absently and leaned closer to a conversation.
Howart shrugged at Hastra's questioning glance. Few things truly disturbed the gaunt Withling. Dire events for sure, but Zelma's little eccentricities weren't on the list.
"Sister, do tell us your interesting tidbits." Hastra drew Zelma's attention back from the chatter around them. Honestly, Hastra just wanted some rest before they considered the White Arrow and prepared for the coming conflict.
"Well—" Zelma started but then paused, a sudden smile on her face again as she listened to another conversation.
Hastra sighed. "Sister, what news did you hear?" She held Zelma's hand and squeezed it.
"Oh, yes, that." Zelma, never one to dwell in the moment, sipped her tea. "It seems that not all Rokans have left the city. A few have been spotted in the last few days. You'd think anyone from Rok would have left, suddenly being unpopular." She giggled as if the information were some pleasing little joke.
Hastra sat back and stared at her sister. Rokans in Auguron City? She tapped her lower lip. To what end? "That is interesting, sister. Have you heard where they've been seen?"
Zelma lifted a finger as she looked elsewhere. "I’m working on that, but no one seems to know exactly where. It's just a rumor. Likely fourth-hand."
Hastra glanced at Howart. "What do you think?"
He rolled his eyes in thought. "Bears checking. There are so many people here. I bet they've left since that rumor started around, though. There's been so much traffic across the bridge this week, according to what I've heard."
Hastra stared into the middle distance. Still, Rokans in the city bore checking if possible. "And all the Chokkrans are leaving too." She shook her head. "Tordug won't like it much."
A moment later, Makwi rose from the bench he occupied with Tordug. The Chokkran champion sidled through the crowd and approached Hastra's table. They probably knew the news already.
"Makwi, we'd make more room if there were more chairs," Hastra said.
The dwarf cleared his throat. "May I speak with you alone?"
Limbreth was likely in her room. "Let's see if there's a room available in the hallway." Maybe the proprietor wasn't using all his dining rooms for extra customers. "I'll be back shortly. Let me know what you find out," she said to Zelma and Howart.
Makwi cleared a path through the crowded room, and Hastra followed. They found the service room, which held a spare table and a stack of chairs, empty. Hastra shut the door, and the noise of the common room faded.
Without hesitation, Makwi knelt before Hastra. "Bless me, Withling." His somber eyes fixed on her with sincerity.
She partially turned her head but left her eyes locked on Makwi. "Why ask for a blessing now?"
The dwarf lowered his head, but his whisper carried regardless. "For the coming fight."
"So you are staying?" She had wondered if they might leave. Their business was their own, and this was no different.
"Yes, we're staying. For our people. We've come too far in this not to see it through. If it means the difference between trolls and not..." Makwi shrugged. "I'll need a blessing for this fight. I, uh, we don't expect to do anything but offer our honor to our people here."
"You mean you expect to fight to the death here?" Hastra almost grabbed the dwarf by the shoulders. Were they crazy? Now she agreed with Limbreth's quiet assertions about them. How could she bless this? Her eyes narrowed. "What do you intend, Makwi?"
"I think that's my... I just think I need a blessing if I'm to stand here against the trolls."
Hastra's eyes widened, and she experienced a sudden intake of air. Her heart leapt at one word. She shifted to dwarvish and uttered the sudden words given. "May you stand when no one else can."
With those simple words, Makwi stood and offered a simple nod.
Hastra stumbled from the room and dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. Her impression about Makwi, Tordug and Ralda returned from memory. They would all face death again. That blessing felt like she had said goodbye.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Athson sat on a bunk in the ranger barracks. He didn't know where else to go. Limbreth had walked away from him at his confession like he'd slapped her. He grunted. Maybe he had. Emotionally.
He glanced at his things. Should he stow his pack? He had no assignment yet. He was a Withling now, though he’d heard nothing of Eloch in days. He thought. He didn't think his confession to Limbreth was from Eloch. He knew a Withling didn't lie, but never speaking those words wouldn't have been a lie.
He fumbled his belt loose and laid his sword on the bunk. Was he still a ranger? If not, where would he go? Maybe he'd wander Denaria like Hastra or find a cave like Howart. There was Heth and Cireena's home. Maybe another night.
Athson laid back on the bunk and considered things with Limbreth. Maybe she would think better of him in the morning, after some rest. He snorted at the thought. Sleep wasn't the answer to their botched relationship. Maybe Limbreth would speak to Hastra and figure it out. But the expression on her face, the shock as she pulled away, as she turned from him without a word. He'd lost her trust with his confession, and he'd never earn that again. He'd abandoned her on the Funnel, and only a miracle had saved her from certain death.
Gweld arrived later, pausing as he searched the big room and found Athson on the bunk. The elf approached and nudged him. "You want to eat something? There's food across the courtyard."
Athson grunted.
Gweld stood there a moment. "You have words with Limbreth or something after that scene in the street?"
Athson grunted again.
"You're suddenly back to the old, dour Athson?" Without an answer, the elf turned to go. "Well, I'm eating."
"I told her like you said I should." As the elf faced him, Athson gazed at Gweld. Should he blame his friend?
"And I take it the conversation didn't go well?"
"She said nothing, just walked away."
Gweld scratched the back of his neck. "Not what I thought she'd do. Maybe she'll think it through."
Athson stared at the upper bunk. "Yeah, maybe she'll talk it through with Hastra." It didn't matter. He truly was the failure Limbreth merely claimed she was. He touched his sword, and the thought didn’t change. Not the curse, just his own thought. But then, he'd faced that failure on the Funnel until he'd heard the miraculous news at Marston's Station. He'd faced it then, and only his desire to see Limbreth pushed it aside, but the truth had clung to him the breadth of Auguron. He’d dreaded ever telling her this. But he'd promised to be honest with her, and he was. He sighed.
Gweld rocked his weight from foot to foot. "I don't know what to say. I thought she'd talk it through with you. Listen about the curse."
Athson sniffed. "Yeah, it was a fool's hope on my part. But better to tell her than keep that secret between us."
Gweld sat on the opposite bunk, his pack between his feet. "All this tim
e and all her words that she'd stick by you. All her effort for the bow, and she just walked away." He shook his head.
"Gweld." Athson turned his head. "What am I supposed to do now? With the bow? I mean, this isn't anyone's fight but Auguron's."
Gweld slapped his shoulder. "Athson, Hastra got you into this, and she must have some answer for it all. We've got several days. Get some rest, eat, let Limbreth work out how she feels. The Withlings will do something. You know, what is needed is given. We'll get assignments and prepare for the defense. But me? I think I'll go eat. How about you?" He offered Athson an inviting grin and waved toward the barracks exit.
"I don't think so, not now." Athson continued to stare at the upper bunk. He needed to work out what came next, like a Withling.
"Well, I'll bring you something back." Gweld left, leaving his pack and bow on the opposite bunk.
Athson picked through the food Gweld brought back later and finally found a way to eat it all. Answers evaded him otherwise, so he went to sleep, hoping for more answers the next day, though the one thought that struck him was his mother. She must be with the Withlings. He'd talk with her in the morning, get her to the house in the trees.
But the morning brought fewer answers. Gweld returned from his early breakfast at the mess as Athson stretched, feeling like his heart resided in his toes. "Anything left?"
Gweld sat and stared at Athson. "Probably. I don't think anyone will eat much today."
Athson lifted his head, his brow furrowed at the ominous comment. "What now?"
"Marston's dead."
Athson buried his head in his hands for several moments as other rangers strolled through the bunkroom. "How?"
Gweld belted on his long knife. "I don't know much, just what the messages from the birds say, or at least, what Sarneth lets out. The trolls caught them in a sudden attack and killed a bunch of the force screening the remainder of the garrison and the auxiliaries. They're in a hasty retreat, and anyone left on the road is running for their lives."
Athson shook his head. He needed guidance from Eloch now. But he heard nothing except his own thoughts about Limbreth. He'd done her a kindness not to let her think of him as a hero when he wasn't. That hadn't done anything but visit him with misery. He still didn't know if Eloch had directed him in that or not. He tried listening, but nothing happened. He needed to talk to Hastra or one of the others.
Athson stood and belted on his sword, then grabbed the Bow of Hart and headed for the door.
Gweld called after him, "Where are you going?"
"To grab some food and then to see Hastra." Athson waved to Gweld, who offered a dismissive wave of his own. They'd meet later. No doubt Gweld would get them an assignment together.
Athson pushed through the food line, filled his pockets with what he wanted, and then left. The streets were abuzz with news as he strolled toward the Broken Bow Inn. Less than halfway there, he passed the grandest inn, the High Oaks, where foreigners with plenty of coin stayed. Outside, he spied several Grendonese soldiers. This was where Dareth was staying? Didn't surprise Athson.
But then he spotted Limbreth's horse. Saddled with her saddlebags. Athson swerved toward the soldiers. "Hey, I know this horse. Where'd you get it?"
The soldier glanced at him and grimaced. He spared a sidelong look to his fellow guard standing near several other saddled horses, one of which Athson recognized. He felt as if his heart stopped. Dareth's horse. The second soldier shrugged, and the first one said, "It's the Lady Limbreth's horse. We leave this city for the trolls and elves to fight over."
Athson stepped back. She was leaving? He turned and stared at the bustle of the crowd. Leaving? He ran his fingers through his hair and turned back to the guards. "You know where she is?" Hopefully not inside. Not with Dareth. He needed to tell her goodbye, at least.
The second guard pointed farther along the street.
Athson looked in the indicated direction. Limbreth marched along the street in her white dueling leathers and her cape from the dwarves of Ezhandun. Several soldiers followed, but they looked more like they were guarding her rather than holding her captive. Indifference defined her expression if he'd ever seen such on a face. But he knew better.
Limbreth spotted him and her gait hitched slightly, but then she recovered and marched with renewed pace. She started past him without speaking, her eyes fixed ahead of her.
"I need to talk to you." He ground his teeth. Maybe she'd misled him all this time. He rested his hand on his sword's pommel. No, he'd done this on his own.
"I've nothing to say to you. You said it all yesterday." She swept past him.
Athson snagged her arm. "At least let me say goodbye after..." He glanced at the six soldiers who suddenly crowded around him. "After all this time."
She snatched her arm away, her expression never changing. The soldiers reached for their swords, but Limbreth lifted her hand. "No need." Her eyes flicked to Athson’s sword and then back to his face. "Besides, I doubt the lot of you would stand a chance against his steel." To Athson, she said, "You just said your goodbye."
He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. "Why are you doing this? You don't want to."
Limbreth's jaw worked slightly behind her closed lips. "Leave us."
The soldiers retreated beyond the row of prepared horses and murmured among themselves, tossing dark looks toward Athson.
Limbreth grabbed his arm and steered him between her horse and Dareth's. "You know why I'm doing this, Athson." She leaned toward him like so many other times, but not with a kiss for him. "But for Spark, I’d be dead. You let me die on the Funnel. And thanks to Spark, wherever he is."
"Uh, he's right beside us."
Limbreth's expression broke with a swift, sweet smile for Spark. Then she returned her gaze to Athson, the indifferent expression back. "My—"
"He's on the other side of us."
Limbreth rolled her eyes. "Whatever, Athson. I'm tired of all the games. I worked myself into a frenzy this last week over you, and for nothing."
"But you don't want this. You don't want him." Athson slapped Dareth's horse for lack of any better representation of the man.
"That doesn't matter." Her tone took on an icy chill in the late winter morning. "My father has ordered me home, and I'm going. I'll deal with the nuptials when I get there."
He stood slack-jawed and wide-eyed a moment before he recovered. "Since when do you care if your father orders you to do anything? You traveled here and then to Chokkra and back without a care for his orders."
Limbreth lifted a hand and shoved him into Dareth's horse. "Oh, I cared. I cared to gain his respect. Just like I cared that the man I likely love and who probably loves me would—would..." She stammered into silence, wheeled away to her horse, and leaned her head on her hands at the saddlebags.
He touched her shoulder. "Limbreth, let me—"
She shrugged his hand away and pushed him back. "Enough, Athson. I don't like this, but it has to be." She turned her head and peered at him sidelong, tears brimming in her eyes. "It's hard enough as it is." She fumbled with the buckles of her saddlebags.
Athson remembered how he'd fumbled with his saddlebags, the inheritance hidden within, when he wanted to quit Hastra's quest at Huffer's Post. He'd asked to Limbreth to go with him then. Her eyes indicated she wanted to say 'yes' then. But not now.
Limbreth opened the saddlebag with a sniff and rummaged through the contents until she found what she wanted. She offered her hand to him. "Here. Maybe you can use this. I don't know."
Athson glimpsed the object she held out to him. A broken arrow. The White Arrow. His eyes widened as she dumped the broken pieces in his hands. The dream. Except then it was a shining object, and now it’s a useless, broken arrow. He recognized her gaze, her expression. The same as the dream. Except now he knew the meaning of her sorrow and disappointment. In him. "Not again." He stepped back into the Dareth's horse.
"Again?"
He shook his head. "Nothin
g. Another dream of mine coming true."
Limbreth's eyes narrowed. "Don't try to trick me into this with duty." She pointed to the arrow. "Goodbye, Athson." She walked away again, without another word.
Athson watched her go, just like in the dream.
He stood between the horses. She'd brushed him away like dust from her shoes, and in the street. Athson glanced around, but no one bothered with him standing forlorn with a broken arrow in his hands. Broken like he'd broken her trust and their relationship.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Hastra eased down the stairs of the Broken Bow Inn and paused as Athson entered the common room. He looked worn. His sandy hair was tousled and his clothing rumpled as if he'd slept in the street. But he carried the Bow of Hart and that sword of his. She eyed his grip on the sword. His manner seemed distant, distracted.
Athson noted her peering at him from the stairs. He shuffled his feet as if he considered leaving. Perhaps he sought Limbreth, but she'd left early after a restless night of sleep. Hastra paused. Limbreth had hardly spoken a word since leaving with Athson the day before and returning without him.
She motioned for Athson to approach her, and the old, evasive sideways slouch returned to his posture. After a moment, he shrugged one shoulder and pushed through the crowd. Hastra descended the rest of the way to the floor, her lips drawn tightly on her face. Honestly, she spent most of her time managing these two and less being a Withling. At least, it felt that way all too often.
She nodded. "You slept well?"
Athson shrugged one shoulder again. "I suppose." He scratched the back of his neck and eyed the door. "I came looking for you. Figured you'd know what to do next." He tapped the Bow of Hart, his arms slightly crossed as he did so. "About this."
Hastra ran her tongue across her lips. He doubted something. Most new Withlings did at some point, but this situation was beyond most experienced Withlings. Including her, she admitted to herself. "Good of you to seek guidance. Zelma and Howart are in a room down the hall already." She extended her hand for him to precede her.
The White Arrow Page 19