“I see,” Shawna clipped, eyeing Dormael strangely. Dormael found her interest in Seylia a little uncomfortable for some reason. “So you three grew up together?”
“No,” D’Jenn replied, his eyes narrowing, “Seylia is a Runemian, from a neighboring tribe.”
“Ah,” was Shawna’s reply. D’Jenn looked askance at Dormael who only shrugged in return.
“She seems very friendly,” Shawna commented, placing sardonic emphasis on the word “friendly”.
“Yes,” D’Jenn agreed, “Seylia is one of the friendliest people we know.”
“So neither of you have…,” Shawna left the last bit unsaid, but her meaning was clear. D’Jenn stammered for a moment, unsure how to answer, and looked helplessly at Dormael. Dormael felt heat rising to his cheeks and took the opportunity to take a long pull from his flagon. That was all the answer that Shawna needed.
She rose quickly, tipping her chair over behind her into some half drunk patron who protested with a mild exclamation. Shawna ignored him and moved to pick Bethany up from her chair where she was snoozing.
“Well,” she nipped, gathering a sleepy and surprised Bethany into her arms, “It’s late and the journey has made me weary. Bethany and I are retiring. Good night.” With that, Shawna stamped up the stairs and disappeared from their sight, the cousins’ bemused eyes following her all the way.
D’Jenn looked from Dormael to the stairs where Shawna had gone and back. His piercing blue eyes seemed to bore into Dormael’s skull, and Dormael crumbled under his scrutiny, as he always did. Dormael laughed, almost apologetically, and took another pull from his ale.
“Hundreds of barmaids from Ferolan to Mistfall, Dormael,” D’Jenn admonished, “and you had to woo the swordswoman?” Dormael spluttered ale onto the floor.
“I haven’t!” he protested.
“You haven’t?”
“No!”
“Then what have you done?”
“Nothing!”
“Nothing?”
“Well…”
“Ah ha!”
“Nothing like that!”
“Something like that.” D’Jenn shook his head and took a pull from his own glass.
“D’Jenn, honestly I have done nothing,” Dormael pleaded, “The girl flirted with me! All I have done is try to avoid her. I meant to tell you of this, honestly, but a time never presented itself.”
“You mean between kissing and tickling?” D’Jenn quipped, and both cousins shared a laugh at the comment.
“No, I’ve never kissed her, nor tickled her, nor talked of any such thing. It’s just been a little…strange…between Shawna and me lately,” Dormael explained.
“Regardless, the damage is done. For some reason the girl has attached herself to you. This is only going to make things more uncomfortable. I was wondering why she was acting so venomous around Seylia,” D’Jenn said.
“I think Seylia sort of started the whole thing.”
“Indeed she did,” D’Jenn agreed, “and I think that Shawna can tell that there’s more between you and Seylia than just friendship.”
“Not much more,” Dormael disagreed, “we’re just…friendly with each other, from time to time.” The cousins both laughed again, and drained their tankards of ale. The serving girl brought another round, and about that time Seylia came strolling back to the table.
“Has your friend gone off to sleep?” Seylia inquired in a tone dripping with innocence.
“It’s been a long trip for all of us,” D’Jenn replied, “and she was very tired.” Seylia sipped from her glass in silence, and Dormael thought he saw the ghost of a smirk on her face. He decided not to comment on it.
“So then you’ll leave for Ishamael on the morrow?” Seylia asked.
“With the sun, or just after,” Dormael answered. Seylia nodded in response and the three old friends sat in silence for a few minutes just enjoying each other’s company. Patrons began to drift out or just fall asleep at their tables as the hour became later and later, and to Dormael’s eyes the room took on a blurry, golden glow as the ale worked its way deeper into his head.
D’Jenn spotted a girl at the other end of the common room and drifted in that direction to flirt with her, which left Dormael and Seylia seated alone at the table. The barmaid kept the drinks coming and eventually Seylia scooted her chair next to his and began to idly lean against him in a friendly manner. Dormael did not object.
“When are you ever planning on coming home and settling for good, magus?” Seylia asked with a wistful, drunken tone.
“When are you planning on staying in one place, musician?” Dormael shot back playfully.
“We could travel the whole of the Sevenlands, you know,” Seylia mused, “playing every common room and court. Our names would be spoken in every taproom around.”
“Aye, we could at that,” was all Dormael said in reply.
D’Jenn stumbled over to the table on the tail of Dormael’s words, a young laughing brunette hanging on his arm. His cheeks were reddened with the ale and his eyes were a bit bleary as he plopped into his chair opposite Dormael and Seylia, pulling the young girl onto his knee and encircling his arm around her waist to keep her from stumbling onto the floor.
“This is Stephanie,” D’Jenn said, introducing the giggling girl hugging him from his lap, “She just moved here from Duadan.” Seylia and Dormael both greeted the smiling maiden perched on D’Jenn’s lap and laughed as she knocked over an ale tankard in the process of returning to her seat.
I’ll be needing the use of our room for a bit, cousin, D’Jenn’s hands said, a little off to the side so that only Dormael and Seylia could see them.
You’re welcome to it, and have fun. Come find me in the morning, Dormael signed back, and with that D’Jenn rose and pulled the young woman up the stairs behind him. Dormael laughed and took a long pull from his ale tankard, gulping down the last of the frothy drink. He sighed, letting the feeling of drunkenness settle throughout his body, and looked down at Seylia.
Seylia giggled at the situation, raising an eyebrow at Dormael in a slightly accusing, slightly flirtatious manner. Dormael couldn’t help but laugh in return. He reached for his ale tankard and took another long drink and mopped the froth from his mouth. Seylia stood up suddenly.
“Well,” she declared, “since you’re not going to settle, and I’m not going to settle, we’ll just have to make use of the time we have then.”
“And how, my dear,” he inquired, “would we do that?”
Seylia gave him a look that said more than any words could have. Dormael coughed and giggled a bit at her forwardness, and stood up beside her. She turned up the corner of her mouth in a coquettish smile, hooked one of his fingers in hers, and strode like a queen towards the stairwell.
“After all,” she commented as they reached her room on the top floor, “you are sort of bed-less for awhile aren’t you?” Dormael just smiled as her door closed behind him.
****
Chapter Thirteen
Swords versus Strings
Dormael woke the next morning in his own bed, having crept back into it sometime during the night. The sun was just a sliver of golden orange along the horizon as he opened the shutters to stare blearily out the window of the second-story room he shared with D’Jenn. Dormael took a deep breath and turned away from the portal as he heard D’Jenn sit up in his bed.
“Have a good time last night, cousin?” Dormael asked, sitting on the edge of his own bunk.
“Oh yes, quite the spirited girl indeed. What about you? What did you and Seylia get up to after we left you alone in the common room, eh?”
“Not much really, we spent some time together and then I snuck back in here when I thought it was safe,” Dormael replied. It wasn’t really a lie, just more of an omission.
“Ah,” D’Jenn said with a smirk on his face. Dormael knew he didn’t believe him. D’Jenn always saw right through his little stories.
“Well,” Dormael sa
id, standing up abruptly, “best we’d get on the road as soon as we can. If we can get to Gammeritus within the next four days, we can be up to my family’s homestead within six or seven.”
“So you are planning on stopping in for a visit, then?” D’Jenn asked.
“I’d like to, if we can make the time. If Allen is around then I’d like to see him. There aren’t many chances for us to catch up, and if he’s free…”
“Then you’d like to bring him along, eh?” D’Jenn finished his sentence.
“He could be a great help, especially if we run into any trouble,” Dormael nodded.
“Indeed he could at that. I guess we should get started then. I’ll wake the girls.” D’Jenn rose and left the room while Dormael packed their belongings.
It was a cold, misty morning as the party met in front of the stables of the Golden Mug. Mistfall was relatively quiet; with only a fraction of its citizens rising so early in the morning, the rampant noise and bustle they had all experienced the day before was absent. The sounds of straps being tightened on saddlebags and gear being secured to pack horses seemed obnoxiously loud in the misty quiet of the dawn.
A somber mood sat over the companions, and Dormael found it very uncomfortable. D’Jenn was saying absolutely nothing, while Shawna kept shooting questioning looks at Dormael, and Bethany seemed tired and oblivious to the entire scene. Dormael tried to keep himself busy with his gear, putting his back to Shawna and pretending not to see the daggers her eyes kept shooting at him.
They all mounted and set off in silence, no one wishing to break the awkward quiet that had fallen over them. The shoes of their horses made loud clopping sounds on the stones of the road as they cantered through the nearly empty streets of Mistfall. The smells of the city seemed to sit in the mist more heavily than usual, and their noses were assaulted in turns by sea salt, fresh morning air, and pungent waste.
They were no more than a few minutes from the Mug when they all heard the distinct sound of an approaching horse from behind. D’Jenn shot Dormael a warning glance and then gestured back to Shawna in the Hunter’s Tongue.
Spread out, his hands said, we can’t be too careful. Make ready.
A slight blonde woman 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 she was obviously 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. The mood became distinctly more awkward.
“Morning boys,” Seylia greeted them as she approached, “How are we all feeling today?”
“Just fine, Seylia,” D’Jenn replied, “and you? Where are you off to this early?”
“Oh, I just thought that since you were all travelling to Gammeritus, I’d tag along and ride with you, at least that far. 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?” Seylia smiled innocently at D’Jenn.
“Of course not,” D’Jenn sighed, “We wouldn’t want anything to happen to an old friend.” D’Jenn’s tone said that he knew there was something amiss here, and he shot Dormael an accusatory glance before turning his horse back in the direction they were riding. “Let’s be off, then.”
“Shawna,” Seylia smiled at the noblewoman, too warmly for anything but sarcasm.
“Seylia,” Shawna replied icily. Dormael sighed and turned his horse after his cousin.
The silence only deepened as the companions rode along snaking misty streets toward the western gate of the city. After a few minutes of riding they reached a major boulevard that was laid in large grey flagstones instead of the smaller cobblestones of the side streets. The sound of their horses’ hooves upon the ground was crisper, more militaristic in a way, and the staccato clip-clop-clop began to grate on Dormael’s nerves.
Bethany was riding with Dormael, as usual, and she was rapping his goatee on the saddle horn in time with the horses. She seemed to do it now unconsciously, her eyes taking in the sights of Mistfall while her hands were free to perform her drumming. It was getting to be a little too much for Dormael.
“Seylia,” he said a little too loudly into the quiet morning, “why don’t you grace us all with a song?”
“Really Dormael, it’s a little early for that sort of thing. We’ll have washer-wives and workmen screaming at us from here to the Western Tradefair if I start singing,” Seylia answered.
“Not with a voice like yours,” Dormael coaxed. Seylia laughed at the compliment, but shook her head all the same.
“Why are you suddenly so interested in music, my friend?” she asked.
“It’s this silence, it’s unnerving.”
“You’ll be fine, dear. Hum yourself a tune if it makes you happy,” she winked at him. Dormael sighed and sank back into quiet musing. He passed his time trying to count the hairs on the back of Bethany’s head.
The Western Tradefair came into view around the corner of an intersection, and behind it loomed the western gatehouse of Mistfall. The Tradefairs were a constant in Mistfall; from spring equinox to spring equinox there were peddlers, traders, and hawkers all trying to sell their goods here. There were a few wooden stands along a wide avenue that led to Mistfall’s Westgate, which was actually just a space cleared so that travelers could pass through easily. Behind the wooden stands stood row upon row of colorful tents, most drawn closed against the cold of the night, but a few traders could be seen opening up their tents or placing goods in rows along shelves in the stands.
The companions passed by inattentively until a heated argument caught Dormael’s attention. Ahead along the road, two men were in a loud discussion about an empty stall. It seemed that they had both rented the same stall for the day, and neither wanted to share nor give up their space.
“What are they arguing about?” Shawna asked, suddenly right beside Dormael. Dormael gave a start and then tried to cover it, but to no avail. He heard Shawna giggling under her breath.
“Renting rights,” he recovered, “the stalls along the avenue are rented out, some for a day, some for an entire season if one can afford it. The tents behind them cost nothing to the trader, but the stalls are prime space, you understand.”
“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, “though it seems that in this case, someone has rented a double space. Either a genuine mistake…”
“Or a corrupt official,” Shawna finished for him.
“No shortage of those, either,” Dormael commented.
The party passed the arguing men and came finally to the Westgate. The gatehouse towered above them, with square stone towers squatting to each side of the road and an arched opening in between them. Guards lounged against the walls and looked down from the battlements above the road as the companions passed underneath the gatehouse into the tunnel that ran to the countryside beyond. There were twin portcullises and two large oaken, iron-shod doors which were swung outward, revealing the hazy outline of rolling hills through the mist beyond. The road meandered between the hills on its way westward, changing from flagstones to hard -packed dirt as the travelers left the city. As they passed onto the road and hills opened up before them, Dormael was struck by a strange feeling of relief. This was home, and he was glad to be back.
They rode through the hills against the cold wind, and as the sun burned off the last of the mist, the countryside was revealed. Long brown grasses waved in the wind like a murky, rolling sea. The road was regularly populated with tradesmen riding creaking wagons toward the city, no doubt trying to set up early for the Tradefairs.
Bethany made a sour face as they ate dried beef in the saddle for lunch, but didn’t offer any vocal complaints. D
ormael smiled as the little girl asked questions about the world around them, pointing out various landmarks and then nodding thoughtfully at Dormael and D’Jenn’s answers. After a while, Seylia began to tell Bethany a story to pass the time, and Bethany listened raptly from start to finish, interjecting questions from time to time in the fashion of all children her age.
As the sun sank below the horizon and the wind grew cooler in the fading twilight, the companions took shelter on the lee side of a large boulder sticking from the side of a hill some distance from the road. Dormael and D’Jenn busied themselves with setting up the campsite, erecting shelters and taking care of the horses, while Seylia and Shawna tried very hard to avoid each other as they prepared the evening meal.
After the meal was finished Dormael and D’Jenn enjoyed a pipe around the fire. Bethany finished her lessons and meditation, and everyone was getting ready to settle in for the night. Shawna had sat quietly brooding since the companions had set up camp, but suddenly she jumped to her feet and brushed herself off.
“We should get some practice in,” Shawna declared.
“What, in the dark, and right now?” D’Jenn asked with a dubious look on his face.
“Do you think that enemies will only attack in the daytime?” Shawna shot back. D’Jenn didn’t have a valid argument for the comment, so he looked to Dormael for some sort of assistance.
“Shawna,” Dormael began carefully, “I think we’re all a little tired.”
Shawna drew her swords in answer.
“Well,” D’Jenn said, “practice it is.”
“Will you be joining us, Seylia?” Shawna asked, ice dripping from the question.
“No dear, I think I’ll just watch,” Seylia replied, pointedly not taking Shawna’s bait.
D’Jenn had barely cast the protective spell that encased the weapons, and Dormael had barely grabbed his staff when Shawna attacked. She came on like a lion, raining two-handed blows down on D’Jenn that he could barely fend off, forcing him backwards and off balance. Dormael was startled and it took him a second to recover and come to his cousin’s aid. Shawna had counted on that, however, and as Dormael came at her from behind, she slipped to one side and neatly avoided Dormael’s over-handed strike.
The Sentient Fire (The Seven Signs) Page 38