D'Jenn snorted and looked away, trying not to smile. “This is not going to end well.”
“It's not supposed to, dear,” Seylia said, before ordering three cups of the strongest firewine the Golden Mug had on hand. “Strong drink and regret go hand-in-hand. The gods need something to laugh at, after all.”
It had been awhile since Dormael had let himself get drunk—at least since they had left Alton’s. The firewine pulled a pleasant curtain over his vision, blurring the harder edges of the world into softness. He ate another plate of food, and lit a pipe to commemorate its passing. Some of the stress of the road bled from his shoulders as he immersed himself in the ambiance of his homeland. He was always guarded in the east, ever wary of someone discovering the secret of his power. Being home again felt like dipping into a warm bath after a long, cold day.
Seylia leaned ever closer to him as the night went on, and Dormael made no move to dissuade her. Her presence was exciting, and the two of them had been close for years. Dormael had never given thought to settling with any one woman—his line of work, in fact, made the very idea seem ridiculous—and Seylia was notorious for spurning the advances of those who would tie her down. No matter what Shawna thought, Dormael did care for her, but the both of them knew that whatever time they shared together would never amount to anything more than it was. It was never going to happen.
“D'Jenn looks to be enjoying himself,” Seylia said, indicating where the normally dour wizard was close in conversation with a woman at another table.
“It's good to see,” Dormael nodded, pulling on his pipe. “He's usually got two moods—intense, and more intense.”
“And your friend—the pretty one with the swords—what are her moods like?”
“They change like the seasons,” Dormael smiled. “She was...difficult when we first met her. Since then, though, she's become a friend. It's odd.”
“What's odd about it?” Seylia asked, giving him a sidelong glance.
“Nothing,” Dormael shrugged.
“No, I want to know,” Seylia laughed. “Tell me.”
“She's hard to anticipate,” he said, trying to form words around the feeling he was trying to convey. “She'll go from dressing me down to starting snowball fights. She'll tell me what a bastard I am in one breath, then tell me something in confidence the next. It's hard to figure her out.”
“I see,” Seylia said, peering at him even closer. “What is it you like about her, then? That sounds maddening to me.”
“She's genuine,” Dormael said, surprising himself when the words came out without hesitation. “Whatever you're getting with her, you can be sure it's actually what she's feeling. She's smart, too—that's always a welcome thing.”
“I think that's more thought than you've ever put toward a woman in your life,” Seylia said, slapping him on the arm.
“You, too? Why is every woman so keen to shit on me today?” he asked, softening his words with a smile.
“I'm not shitting on you, Dormael, just making an observation,” she said, returning his smile. “I like your simplicity.”
“Simplicity?” he asked.
“I like our simplicity,” she clarified. “Now, why don't you forget about your red-headed friend, and come do something simple with me?”
Dormael felt a smile crack his features before he could stop it. “I like our simplicity, too. Why are you so concerned with Shawna, anyway? Is the notorious Seylia Six Strings actually jealous of another woman?”
Seylia smiled. “Jealous isn't even close to the right word, magus. Forget her. D'Jenn is dragging that poor girl up the stairs as we speak, anyway. Are you two sharing a room?”
“We are,” Dormael said, unable to keep from smiling as he watched D'Jenn being led away by a beaming brunette. She looked wholesome and sweet. Dormael spent a bare moment wondering how in all of Eldath his cousin had convinced the poor girl to give him the time of day, but then turned back to Seylia.
“Looks like you're bed-less for a while,” she smiled. “Good thing I'm willing to share.”
“Far be it from me to turn down such a kindness,” he said.
“Finish your drink, then,” she purred, leaning forward to give him a kiss. When their lips parted, she grabbed her cup from the table and drained it in one gulp. Dormael followed her example. Seylia stood, grabbed him by the arm, and allowed him to walk her up the stairs that led to the upper rooms.
Gods, he thought, it really is good to be home.
Flying Rock
Dormael woke the next morning in his own bed, having crept back into it sometime during the night. His mouth tasted like sour firewine, and his stomach rumbled in protest, as if it had been waiting for him to stir. He grimaced and climbed from the bed, stumbling to the shutters. The sun was just a haze of orange below the horizon, and the twilight looked chilly. Mist choked the streets, creating an odd vista of disembodied buildings and hazy outlines. The mist was what gave Mistfall its name, caused by some natural phenomenon about which Dormael didn't much care. He took a deep breath and turned away from the window as he heard D’Jenn sit up in his own bed.
“Does your head feel like it's packed with stuffing?” Dormael asked.
“More like warm, soupy shit,” D'Jenn grimaced. “Why did I let that woman talk me into drinking that much?”
“She didn't do much talking, really. Your resistance was token at best,” Dormael smiled.
“Women like that have you going their way before you know what's good for you,” D'Jenn grumbled. “I'm convinced it's another form of magic.”
“Not magic,” Dormael said. “Just beauty and wit. It's compelling.”
“That smile on your face is sickening,” D'Jenn laughed. “Beauty and wit, indeed. My guess is that she took you to bed last night and drained all your fire out. Now you're getting all misty-eyed whenever your mind turns to her, because all you can think about is what she looked like naked and covered in sweat.”
Dormael smiled. “It's not all I can think about...but it is a nice thought.”
“Let's get out of this place before she wakes up,” D'Jenn sighed. “Seylia is wonderful and all, but I'd rather avoid her tendency to stir up trouble. The last thing I want to listen to this morning is her and Shawna nattering at each other and showing their claws.”
Dormael felt a little guilty, but he completely agreed. “Right. I'd like to hurry along, in any case. If we make good time, perhaps we can stop by my family's homestead.”
“You plan on visiting?” D'Jenn asked, pausing in his efforts to rub the sleep from his eyes.
“I'd like to. I've probably got a stack of letters from my mother waiting at the Conclave anyway, and if anyone finds out that we traveled through the area and didn't visit, you know what an uproar there will be,” Dormael said. “They'll come after both of us.”
“Aye, they probably will,” D'Jenn sighed. “It's not a bad idea, anyway. Your mother will stack food on top of us, fill our saddlebags with a ton of stuff, and let us take whatever we want from the homestead, too. It's better than sleeping on the side of the road in the highlands.”
“Indeed,” Dormael nodded. “Allen might be there, too, and I was thinking—”
“That you’d like to bring him along?” D’Jenn said.
“He could be a great help, especially if we run into any trouble,” Dormael nodded. “Plus, another sword wouldn't hurt. I've got a strange feeling about all of this political trouble.”
“Another sword?” D'Jenn smiled. “Knowing your brother, it will be about three swords, plus a shortbow, maybe a few axes. The man is a walking armory.”
“True enough,” Dormael snickered. “In any case, I wouldn't mind having him along. He might want to get away from the vineyard, too, if he's home.”
“So you’ve come around to my way of thinking—that caution was the best approach?”
“I might be overreacting,” Dormael sighed, nodding, “but something about this is putting my hackles up. I can't tell you w
hy, exactly. It's just a feeling.”
D'Jenn shrugged. “If you think we should be more careful, there isn't any harm in it. I guess we should get started, then. I’ll wake the girls.”
With that, D'Jenn left the room, and Dormael turned to start getting ready.
Despite the amount of time it took everyone to bathe and make ready to leave, the sun was only just starting to paint the mist in morning light by the time they met in front of the stables. Mistfall was quiet, since only a fraction of its citizens rose so early in the morning. The rampant buzz of the afternoon was oddly absent. The sounds of straps being tightened on saddlebags, and gear being secured to pack horses seemed obnoxious in the misty quiet of the dawn.
A somber mood sat over the companions, and Dormael found it uncomfortable. D’Jenn was saying absolutely nothing, while Shawna kept shooting questioning looks at Dormael. The woman was, of course, not suffering from a hangover like the ones which plagued Dormael and D'Jenn. Bethany watched everything around her in silence, huddled deep into her cloak. Dormael tried to imitate the youngling's stoic attitude, but he felt Shawna's eyes on him like a pair of fingers stabbing into his back.
Everyone mounted and set off in silence, no one attempting to break the awkward quiet that had fallen over them. Even Bethany, perched on her normal place in front of Dormael, declined to rap his goatee against the saddle horn. The shoes of their horses made loud clopping sounds on the cobblestones as they walked through the empty streets of Mistfall. The smells of the city sat thick in the mist, and their noses were assaulted in turns by sea salt, fresh morning air, and pungent waste. They rode through the surreal streets for a short time, making their way toward one of the city gates.
Hoof-beats echoed from the walls of the buildings behind them, and Dormael recognized the sounds of a horse approaching from the way they had come. His instincts drove his mind to alertness, and he embraced his Kai. He didn't think someone would be trying to attack them—habits, though, were habits because one didn't perform them consciously.
He had a sinking feeling that he knew who it was.
Spread out, make ready. We can't be too careful, D'Jenn gestured to everyone in the Hunter's Tongue. Shawna nodded and moved her horse to the side of the road, pulling one of her blades halfway from its sheath. Dormael allowed his own mount to sidle up beside Shawna's, and gritted his teeth as they awaited the unknown rider.
A slight form astride a black mare materialized from the mist behind them, wearing a dark leather coat and carrying a guitar strapped to her back. She wasn’t galloping, but it was obvious that she was trying to catch up to them. Dormael gave an inward groan as the girl became more visible, the early morning light glinting from her golden hair.
It was Seylia, just as he'd suspected. The mood became distinctly more awkward.
“Morning, boys,” Seylia greeted them as she approached. “How are we all feeling today?”
She was beaming at everyone in turn, but balked for a spare moment as she caught sight of Shawna with her blade half-drawn. Shawna gave her a predatory smirk, and slid her sword back into its sheath. Dormael could practically taste the tension in the air.
“A bit disappointed now, actually,” Shawna sighed.
Seylia narrowed her eyes at the woman, but kept the wooden smile on her face.
“How terrible for you, dear. I hope it fades with time.”
“We're still recovering from our bout with you last night,” D'Jenn said, his irritated tone at odds with the smile on his face. “What are you doing, Seylia? You didn't ride all this way to say goodbye.”
“Oh, I just thought that since you were all traveling to Ishamael, I’d tag along and ride with you, at least as far as Gameritus. There are Inns and Courts to be played there, and a girl alone on the road is easy pickings for bandits and the like. You wouldn’t deny me the pleasure of your company would you? The benefit of all your magical protection? I'd rather not hire out guards, or travel with people I don't know, or trust.” Seylia favored D’Jenn with an innocent smile.
“It must be so inconvenient to be unable to protect yourself,” Shawna said, shaking her head. “I couldn't imagine being so defenseless.”
Dormael bit down on his tongue to keep from smiling. He found all of this tiresome, but he had to admit that a small part of him was cheering for Shawna. He cared a great deal for Seylia, but she was an experienced manipulator. Shawna had been out of place since he had found her. Seylia was bullying her, and part of him would rejoice to see Shawna win this little battle of wits.
Seylia opened her mouth to reply, but D'Jenn spoke up before she could get any words out.
“Of course we don't mind,” D’Jenn sighed. “We wouldn’t want anything to happen to an old friend.” D’Jenn’s tone indicated that he knew there was something more to Seylia's motivations, and he shot Dormael an accusatory glance before turning his horse back in the direction they were riding. “Let’s be off, then.”
Seylia gave Shawna a warm smile, which Shawna ignored. The noblewoman gave Dormael a glance much like the one D'Jenn had given him, and moved her horse after D'Jenn. Dormael passed the look on to Seylia, and followed Shawna's horse. Seylia fell in beside him.
The silence only deepened as the companions rode along misty streets toward the western gate of the city. Cobblestones gave way to large, square flagstones as they passed onto the larger boulevards of Mistfall. People began to fill the streets, coalescing out of the mist and flitting back into the haze, like ghosts in an old lich tale. They had to be careful not to run people over with their horses, though no one deigned to dismount and walk.
The Western Tradefair came into view around the corner of an intersection, spread out before the gatehouse leading out of the city. Wooden stands stood shoulder to shoulder, lining a wide, impromptu avenue that led to the city gate. Behind the stands stood rows of colorful tents, most drawn closed against the cold of the night. A few traders could be seen opening their tents, or placing goods along shelves in the stands, but even these brave souls were wrapped in thick layers of cloth against the cold.
The companions passed by without a glance, until a heated argument caught Dormael’s attention. Ahead in the road, two men were having a loud discussion about an empty stall. They had both rented the same stall for the day, and neither wanted to share, nor give up their space. It was a common occurrence, and got even worse during the warmer seasons of the year.
“What are they arguing about?” Shawna asked, slowing to ride beside Dormael. Seylia, he noticed, had dropped back to the rear.
“Renting rights,” he said. “The stalls along the avenue are rented out. Some pay for a day, some for an entire season if they can afford it. The tents behind them cost nothing to the trader, but the stalls are prime space. Each row farther from the avenue means less business—at least, that's the idea.”
“I see,” Shawna nodded. “Not a bad idea, really. Not only does a vast amount of trade come into the city, but the officials make a little money off the top for the space.”
“Indeed,” Dormael agreed. “Looks like someone double-rented that space for the day, though. Could have been a genuine mistake, I imagine.”
“Or a corrupt official,” Shawna said.
“No shortage of those, either,” Dormael nodded. Shawna gave him an actual smile, and then spurred her horse forward again. He shook his head and watched her back as she rode. Hadn't she, just moments before, given him a look that said she wanted to punch him in the face a few times? He let out a deep breath and tried to return his attention to the road.
“You're tickling my hair,” Bethany grumbled as his exhale ruffled her locks the absolute slightest amount.
“Don't you start acting like these grown women,” he said, nudging her in the ribs. “I like you just the way you are.”
“Acting like what? It tickles,” Bethany said, though the irritation had gone from her tone. “Maybe Shawna can braid my hair later, like Seylia's. Do you think she can do that?”
“I wouldn't ask, dear,” Dormael said, stifling a laugh before it could do more than change his expression. “Not in a thousand years would I ask that question.”
“Why not?” Bethany asked.
Dormael sighed. “You'll understand one day. Thankfully, though, you've got a few years before that happens. I'm glad of it, believe me.”
“You're not making any sense,” Bethany sighed.
“I know. That's the point, little one,” he replied. She tried to dodge as he ruffled her hair, but he caught her anyway.
The party passed the arguing men, nudging their horses wide of them, and came to the western gate of Mistfall. The gatehouse towered above them, with square stone towers to each side of the road and an arched opening in between. Guards lounged against the walls and looked down from the battlements as the companions passed underneath the gatehouse and into the tunnel. The gigantic doors were flung wide to the cool mist of the morning, and Dormael could smell the loamy odor of wet earth wafting through the tunnel. He couldn’t help but smile as he came once again into the sunlight.
The road meandered west, snaking over hills on its trek inland from the sliver of land that hosted Mistfall. Soirus-Gamerit was a fertile place, and even this deep in winter, swaths of light green could be seen amongst the swishing brown of the grasses. The mist clung to the low places, rolling along the saddles between gentle hilltops and burning away in the morning sun. Horse kicked his legs up a bit as they made the dirt of the road, but Dormael patted his neck to keep him calm. The poor beast had been at sea for too long, and needed to stretch his legs. Bethany giggled as Horse danced, but tried to assist Dormael in calming the unruly animal.
They rode through the entire morning.
Bethany made a sour face as they ate dried beef in the saddle for lunch, but didn’t offer any vocal complaints. Dormael smiled as the little girl asked questions about the world around them, pointing out various landmarks and then nodding thoughtfully at the answers given to her. After a while, Seylia began to tell Bethany a story to pass the time, and Bethany listened from start to finish, interrupting from time to time with enthusiastic questions.
The Seven Signs: Three Book Collection Page 44