“We should all be so lucky,” said Xain. The wizard had grown pale, and his skin broke out in sweat though they had not yet descended into summer’s full heat. The sickness was coming upon him again — but milder this time, and though his hands often trembled, Loren saw no trace of madness in his eyes.
“Still, I hope you will come my way if ever you have a chance,” said Albern. “For though I lament this trip and my role, mayhap one day we might look back with memories fond.” He fell silent and bent his head toward the saddle, as though afraid to say more.
Loren thought she knew his mind. “Do not blame yourself for the journey’s end. Jordel learned much that he would not have known otherwise, and passed that knowledge to us. We shall give his order the warning they need to deal with these Shades. The Mystic would have wished for nothing more.”
Albern nodded then turned to bury his face. Gem hid behind the edge of his cloak and wept again.
On the sixth day after leaving the fortress, they finally saw the town of Northwood stretching before them. A low wall surrounded it, not more than five feet high, something to stand behind rather than on top of. The town spilled out beyond the wall like wine from an overfilled waterskin, running among dikes and troughs bringing water from the Melnar river to the farms. Smoke plumed gently from every chimney, soft and white, like the simple wood cottages from Loren’s village.
“It’s bigger than I thought it would be,” said Annis. “Almost a city.”
“Aye, it is the northernmost town on the Westerly Road,” said Albern. “In one sense, it is Selvan’s northwestern border, though law says the borders lie in the Greatrocks to the west, and in the Birchwood to the north. And border towns are often large.”
“Should we be wary of a Yerrin ambush upon those streets, do you think?” Xain’s eyes were sharp as he surveyed the place.
“I think we worry not,” said Annis. “We destroyed my mother’s caravan. Without it she has nothing to trade, and therefore nothing to do. She has many men who must be fed, but probably scant coin to feed them, if she brought all of her cargo into the mountains. She will scuttle home to gather her strength.”
“And plot revenge,” said Loren.
“Aye, and that, too,” said Annis quietly.
“I know an inn here, where the ale is sweet and the beds are soft,” said Albern. “The matron will give you your custom as a gift.”
“We have coin,” said Loren. It was true, for Jordel had always carried much with him, and it sat in his saddlebags still.
“Do not deny this gift.” Albern fixed her with a solemn look. “Tis the least I can do.”
Soon they reached the first houses, little more than shacks set upon the wide fields of farms. Children ran up and scuttled about their horses’ legs, tugging at Loren’s fine cloak and waving to Gem. He waved back with a smile, though Annis wrinkled her nose.
“They do not often see riders coming down from the mountains,” said Xain.
“I should say not,” Albern agreed. “I know few who take that road, and none who have done so in the last many years.”
“Where is this inn?” Annis asked.
“A good ways from these farms,” said Albern. “What is wrong, my lady? Not fond of the smell of pig’s dung?”
“Are you?”
Albern tossed his head. “Fair enough.”
The streets soon turned from dirt to cobbles, then from cobbles to well-paved stone. The town rose atop a hill, with a cluster of many low buildings. Loren saw a great hall, probably the mayor’s home — for any town so large as this surely had one. But the other buildings were much like those she had seen in Cabrus and Wellmont, low stone structures with signs out front advertising the owner’s trade: smiths and clothiers, cobblers and bowyers. Albern peeked in through the door at a few to give their wares a passing glance. He lifted his nose and sniffed, haughty as Annis on her worst day.
They found the inn he had promised. Its sign was the largest Loren had ever seen on an inn, showing a great boulder erupting from the land, with a wave and a howling wind crashing against it.
“The Lee Shore,” said Albern.
The stable boy took their horses and gawked at Loren’s two silver pennies. Albern led them inside and to the back of the common room, where the matron stood behind a bar. Her eyes fell upon Albern, and she lit up like the sun.
“Now there is a face this place has missed for too long. Come here, you great lummox!”
She came out from behind the bar, leaving two patrons awaiting their drinks, and wrapped Albern in a warm embrace. Though a head shorter and slim, still she managed to lift his feet from the ground. Below her sleeves Loren glimpsed sinewy muscles.
“Xain, Annis, Gem, and especially Loren,” said Albern. “Take great pleasure in the company you now keep. This is Mag. We have known each other since we were barely more than babes.”
“A bit more than babes, you mean. Babes never get to the things we did at that age,” said Mag, laughing. Then, catching Annis’s expression, she laughed still harder. “Oh, mistake me not, my lady. We got into all sorts of trouble, but more the sort you make with a blade than the sort you make with … well, his blade.”
Albern’s face turned crimson. “Forgive Mag,” he said, bowing. “She has a tongue like the saltiest dock girl, and always the gumption to back up her talk. She has belonged to another for years now, so she means nothing by it.”
“Belonged to him as much as he belongs to me, you mean,” said Mag, punching Albern’s shoulder before returning to the bar.
“Of course, Mag.” Albern leaned close to Loren. “She is also the best fighter you would ever have seen. Every army in the nine lands poured their wine to the dirt the day she gave up soldiering.”
“What’s that you are whispering, Albern?” said Mag sharply.
“Nothing, Mag. But my friends need rest and food, mayhap for a while. Let me pay for them, eh?”
Mag caught his eye, and her smile dampened. When she looked at Loren and the rest of them, her eyes looked sad. “Aye, I can do that. Stay as long as you need, loves. You are most welcome here.”
“We shall find ourselves a table,” said Albern. “But you must come and share an ale, if given a moment.”
“As soon as that man of mine finishes his piss,” grumbled Mag. “I will be there in a minute, loves.”
Albern led them away, weaving through the tables, careful not to jostle the patrons. Annis stepped close behind him. “Albern, what was that business with you two? I felt like you spoke words none of us could hear.”
“Just a minute.” At last Albern found an empty table, and they all fell into chairs around it. Xain tucked himself against the wall, leaning back and picking at his sleeves. Loren studied the wizard with worry, but he gave her a weak yet reassuring smile when he caught her staring.
“Mags and I have seen some things,” he said softly. “Friends dying. Battles lost. Cities sacked, and kings hung. The kinds of things that keep you up at night. When we hung up our swords, I chose Strapa, and she chose Northwood. But we have stayed close, and know each others’ minds. I have never paid for another’s custom, and she caught the meaning in the words. She will not trouble you for coin, and grant your privacy, should you want it.”
“She must let us pay,” Loren insisted, leaning forward. “I wish to be no burden on anyone’s purse.”
“Look around,” said Albern, with a wry smile. “Do you think Mag lacks for custom?”
It was true, Loren realized as she scanned the room. There was hardly a seat empty. And each person at every table had their hands wrapped around a mug, most with empties scattered before them. Business was booming, and it was barely afternoon.
“Half of them come here for her,” said Albern. “It was no jest when I said Mag is the best fighter you have ever seen. Men cross Selvan to see her. Then stay for the ale.”
Loren had gone stone still in her seat, her eyes lighting upon a face across the room. Albern’s voice was an indis
tinct buzz.
“Loren?” said Gem, following her gaze with concern. “What is it? Danger?”
“No … ” said Loren, her voice weak, like a dream.
She rose from her chair, then walked, slowly at first, but ever faster the surer she grew.
Loren knew that face as if it were her own.
“Chet!”
He looked from a tankard of ale, his face confused. Loren reached up and lowered her hood. His eyes filled with surprise, and a smile crashed upon him like a wave on the shore
“Loren?” He shot to his feet. “Is it really you?”
Then they were laughing, arms wrapping each other tight. He picked her up off the ground and she buried her face in his shoulder, still laughing and laughing until it turned into tears, the first droplets of joy she had shed in time beyond memory.
Loren turned to find Xain and the others standing behind her, looking confused but no longer alarmed. Introductions were made, and somewhere in the middle of it all Mag presented them all with a platter of mugs.
“Now you know them, and they know you,” said Loren. “But Chet, what on earth are you doing here? You are leagues from home — weeks of travel, unless you took a boat.”
“That I certainly did not,” said Chet with a chuckle. “Nasty things. But I … Loren, I am here looking for you.”
“Looking for me?” She blinked. “Why would you be … and of all places, why would you be looking for me here?”
Chet’s joy finally dampened, and his smile fell. He looked at the others, then back to her. “Because … because of how you left. Because of what happened.”
Fearing the worst, Loren covered her mouth. Her stomach lurched. “No. Your father. Tell me he’s all right, tell me—”
“Da’s fine,” said Chet quickly. “A knock on the head, it was nothing. I’m speaking of … ”
Again he looked at the others. Loren’s brow furrowed. “Speak, Chet. They are my friends. More than that, by now.”
He looked at Loren askance. “Friends enough to speak of … ” Chet froze, his mouth hanging open. “Sky above. You do not know.”
“Know what, Chet?” Loren could feel a panic at the back of her mind, clawing its way to the front and threatening to overwhelm her.
“Not here.” Chet turned and spoke to the party, placing his hands on the table. “I beg your pardon, all of you. But these words are not mine to tell. I must speak with Loren, alone, and if she tells you afterward, so be it. But I cannot.”
“Loren?” said Albern.
She nodded, but said nothing.
Chet rose and held out his hand. She did not need it, but accepted it with a thin smile nonetheless, relishing the feeling of her hand in his. Then he took her outside the inn and into the streets.
“I have been here for a few days,” he said, mumbling, as though uncomfortable. “There is a nice waterway not too far. Come, let me show you.”
“Say what you must. It will not be easier to hear beside a dike.”
“Just come.” Again, he took her hand.
Loren followed Chet, and soon they had reached the waterway. It was beautiful, as he had said, though Loren would have appreciated it more were she not so afraid. The grass was green, and the water lapped at the waterway with a quiet murmur. He sat on the edge, eyes fixed to his lap. Loren sat across the way.
Chet reached out to hold her hands. “It really is so wonderful to see you, Loren,” he said quietly. “I set out to find you, but it was only ever half a fool’s hope. I was nearly starved by the time I got here, and never knew when I would be able to leave, for I had little coin. But now it matters not. I have found you, as I always meant to.”
“I am glad to see you, too, Chet. But tell me. Why have you come looking for me?”
He glanced over his shoulder, then back at the ground. He picked at his nails, then nibbled on them with his teeth.
“Stop that,” said Loren, snatching his hand. “If you cannot tell me what you must, then tell me of home. You said your father is well? And your mother?”
His face filled with sorrow, and Loren swallowed hard.
“She … she died. Tis why I finally left. I would have come sooner, I swear it, but—”
“You have nothing to explain. You were with her, as you should have been.”
“I was. Though I have often thought of coming to find you. After … after what happened with your father.”
“Oh?” Loren’s heart went icy. “Did he make some kind of trouble after I left? He and mother were furious, no doubt. I cannot imagine they made it pleasant for anybody else.”
Chet studied the ground again. Then, with a cold clarity, Loren knew what he had to say. And still she waited for him to tell her. Finally, after a long while, he met her eyes.
“He never came back, Loren. Your father is dead. They found him in the woods, not far south of the village. He bled to death from an arrow in his leg. They … they knew not who did it.”
He looked away. Loren thought she heard the question in his voice. And she, of course, knew the answer. Chet would know that Loren had stolen a bow from his home, along with many arrows. And he knew she had fled with that bow, on the day her father had been shot. Chet knew that Loren had killed her father.
But Loren could think of only one thing.
He is dead. He is dead, and I killed him. I killed him.
She tried to find her feet, but her arms gave way. Chet took her arm and helped her to stand. Loren looked out over Northwood but saw nothing.
I killed him. I killed my father.
All of her talk. Every time she had withheld her hand. The times she had despised Damaris for killing so easily, and had looked down on Jordel for killing at all.
And she had killed her first man before leaving the Birchwood.
I killed my father. I did it.
My father is dead.
Something broke inside her. As if in the distance, at the back of her mind, Loren heard Jordel’s voice, speaking to her on the Westerly Road, weeks and weeks ago.
I have met boys whose fathers were taken with drink or horrid memories of war, or simply with black hearts. Yet when these boys told me of the day their fathers died, they wept hot and bitter tears. Few hold only hatred for home and family, no matter how justified.
Loren fell against Chet, seizing the front of his tunic. She had no more tears — she had spent them on Jordel’s death. But grief had blinded her, so that she could not take an unaided step, and leaned her head hard against Chet’s shoulder as he helped her back to the inn.
My father is dead.
KEEP READING
You’ve finished Darkfire, the third book in the Nightblade Epic. Your next book is Shadeborn.
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Darkfire: A Book of Underrealm Page 26