by Cheryl Dyson
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
NYKAR
Brydon made it back to the tavern without being grabbed or accosted, for which he breathed a sigh of relief. Toryn and the others returned a short time later. He greeted them with a smile as they sat at his table.
"So you were going to burn down the barracks for me?" he asked. "I thank you. It might have been necessary."
Shevyn flushed and looked away. Alyn snorted and said, "I thought it was a stupid idea. Toryn came up with it."
"What happened in there?" Toryn asked, ignoring her.
Brydon brought them up to date, including his encounter with the strange man in the mask who had questioned him. They offered theories, but came to no better conclusions than Brydon had regarding the man’s identity.
"Amerryn thinks the object we seek is useless to anyone. For all we know, it could be true. I’d rather not take the chance by letting Berikon get his hands on it." Not to mention that it would be bloody difficult to get the item away from any Silveran prince.
"What do we do now?" Toryn asked. "Where did you get those clothes?"
"We continue as we were. I got the clothes from the prince."
"I hope you plan to change. You look about as inconspicuous as a purple horse."
"Thanks," Brydon said dryly.
"You’re welcome. Anyway, while you were chatting with his highness, I found a man who knows where the caravan is," Toryn went on. "He parted with the information for a minimal fee."
"Six glasses of ale," Alyn said.
"Where is the caravan?"
"On its way south."
"South? What principality is south? Do any of you know?" He was not at all familiar with Silver and found himself missing Jace with his limitless knowledge.
Toryn shook his head. "I never expected to be in Silver, Falaran."
Alyn shrugged, but Shevyn grabbed Brydon’s hand. It was obvious she wanted to say something, but did not quite know how. She pantomimed writing. Brydon asked the tavern keeper for writing materials, which were grudgingly supplied at the cost of a few silver coins. He took them to Shevyn, but instead of writing, she drew a map.
Vineyard quickly took shape, followed by Obelisk, Sar-Tela, and then a few of the other Silveran principalities. She drew a line from Shimmer to indicate places the caravan could be headed.
"Either Darkynhold or Saavyn," Toryn noted. "Which is more likely?"
Shevyn sighed and shook her head.
"South it is." Toryn said. Brydon was forced to pay for a room for the night so that he could divest himself of Amerryn’s clothing gift.