Vex arranged for a private dining room up a rickety wooden staircase, and he and Grelling brought Dara and Vine up there to wait for news of the mercenaries’ progress. Grelling left at once, and Dara caught a glimpse of him ordering one of the mercenaries to guard the door as it swung shut.
The women weren’t allowed to speak to each other as usual, but Vex cut their bonds with an ivory-hilted knife and allowed them to relax within the confines of the private room. It was large enough for a rough table made of the same dark wood as everything else in the inn. A pair of low couches formed a sitting area, and a small, round window let in a bit of light. The innkeeper himself brought in a platter of wild rabbit sandwiches and mugs full of clean water. He offered them a pitcher of wine too, but Lord Vex waved it away.
Dara tried to appreciate the soft couch and not having to drink from a canteen while she could, but the anticipation made it difficult to enjoy anything. She didn’t want Siv to be caught, but the possibility that she might finally see him sent a thrill through her more powerful than a jolt of Fire. He could have been in this very building less than twenty-four hours ago. Wick had said people usually stayed two nights in Fork Town. Was he still here somewhere?
She paced at first, and Lord Vex did not stop her. But as the hours passed, she eventually settled in to wait on one of the couches. Lord Vex sat on the opposite one next to Vine, and they chatted as if they were attending a royal reception. They mused about art, literature, courtly gossip from Vertigon, even fashionable dining. Vine’s efforts to ingratiate herself with their captor were valiant. She even scooted closer to him on the couch, looking up at him with a soft smile on her lips. She showed no signs of making a move to incapacitate him, but Dara figured she was biding her time. She couldn’t help noticing that Vine and Vex were becoming almost friendly. She hoped Vine wouldn’t hesitate to dispatch him if she ever managed to get her hands on a weapon.
At last, the Vertigonian mercenary with the strange accent returned with the first piece of news. A young man matching Siv’s description had been seen with a company of well-known pen fighters by multiple people in an inn called Teall’s Traveler. The mercenaries soon brought in others who claimed to have seen him the night before too in half a dozen other drinking establishments. The informants were bleary eyed and worn looking after a night of Fork Town revelry, but their descriptions left little room for doubt.
One dark-eyed girl with auburn hair described Siv down to the new-looking scar along his temple, which few people knew about as far as Dara was aware. Like the others, the girl had seen him with three or four companions. He had been drinking in the Fork, not looking at all like a prisoner. Dara couldn’t help remembering Vine’s assertions that he was experiencing pain on a regular basis and wondered if she’d gotten it wrong somehow.
Wick delivered the biggest piece of news himself, extracted from a local tavern fiddler. The man who looked like Siv and the mysterious pen fighters had been involved in a brawl at a tavern called the Lightning Bug’s Revenge. They’d been attacked by another group of mercenaries and left town shortly before dawn. Dara and the others had missed them by mere hours.
“Firelord take him,” Lord Vex muttered. “Who were these mercenaries?”
“Not a company I’m familiar with, sir,” Wick said. “Weren’t alive enough to tell me much.”
Lord Vex frowned, no doubt wondering who else knew the King of Vertigon had been available for kidnapping in Fork Town.
“And these pen fighters survived?”
“Yes, sir. Put up a good fight by the sounds of things.” Wick reached a hand over his shoulder to touch his broadsword. “Got the names of a few of the pen fighters out of the tavern keeper, but she didn’t know the younger fellow.”
“Hmm.” Lord Vex studied Dara and Vine, who still sat on opposite couches. “It sounds like our young friend is on quite an adventure. But I won’t be beaten to my prize.” He looked back at his mercenary. “Gather your men, Captain Wick. We leave within the hour.”
“Right away.” Wick stomped from the room, already barking orders to his second-in-command.
“Now we know we’re chasing the right man, it’s time to figure out which way he went.” Lord Vex crossed the room and offered Vine his arm in a manner that brooked no argument. “We’re going out to the Fork. Are you ready to use the Air again, Lady Silltine?”
“Of course, Lord Vex,” Vine said. “I do hope I can still Sense him. The Air is temperamental at times.”
“You’ll find a way,” Lord Vex said. “I’d hate for someone else to beat me to my prize.”
“Truly, that would be disappointing.”
Vine didn’t resist as Lord Vex steered her toward the door. She looked back at Dara and gave her a wink as they left the room.
Wick assigned the young Vertigonian mercenary to guard Dara, and he took up a position by the door as the others departed. Grelling and Mertin hadn’t returned yet. They wouldn’t get nearly as much time to rest now that Lord Vex knew Siv was on the road again—possibly with other mercenaries in pursuit.
Dara fidgeted in her seat, wishing she knew what was going on outside. What would Vine do at the Fork? If she knew where Siv was going, would she tell Vex the opposite route? Or would she tell him the truth, hoping Vex wouldn’t believe her? Dara would hate to be caught in that particular mind game—but mind games were Vine’s specialty. She’d have Lord Vex eating out of the palm of her hand before too much longer.
The news Wick had brought worried her. Why was Siv getting into tavern brawls? He couldn’t possibly know the danger he was in from Lord Vex and his men. And who else was after him? Would her father have hired a crew of mercenaries to attack Siv all the way out in Fork Town? Or was there another player in the mix? She drummed her fingers on the arm of the couch, wishing she could do some footwork or go for a run to clear her head.
The mercenary by the door studied her curiously. He had dark-brown hair, common for Vertigonians, and the paler strip peeking out beneath his collar suggested his deep tan wasn’t his natural skin tone. He couldn’t be more than a few years older than Dara. He kept a hand on the curved sword at his belt, and his stance was loose and relaxed. Clearly he didn’t think she was a threat. Vine was better at charming people than Dara was, but maybe she could take advantage of Lord Vex’s temporary absence.
“Excuse me?” she said, putting on what she hoped was a friendly smile. “Would you mind if I look out the window?”
“Don’t see why not.” The mercenary’s accent had a foreign lilt, and again Dara got the impression that he hadn’t spent much time on the mountain.
“Thanks.” Dara rose, moving slowly to avoid alarming him. She strode to the small round window overlooking the road. It was too small for her to fit through, and the mercenary didn’t react when she pulled open the shutters for a better view.
The main fork itself spread before her, its three roads branching off at even intervals from a circular road. A brick platform in the center bore a heavily-graffitied statue of a man with his hands on his hips, his face gazing blankly at the Linden Mountains to the north. Or at least, she thought he was gazing north. On closer inspection, he appeared to have another face on his rusty metal head looking to the east.
“Two faces?” she mumbled, leaning her forehead against the smoky glass.
“Three.”
“Sorry?”
The young mercenary had taken a few steps closer to her, still effectively guarding the door.
“He’s got three faces. One for each fork. You can see ’em better up close.”
Dara looked back at the statue, just making out the shadows of features on its head. Just then, Lord Vex and Vine emerged from the inn beneath her and strode toward the center of the roundabout. The road ran around the brick platform in a complete circle. A constant flow of traffic moved through it: horses, carriages, foot traffic, even a drove of cattle not much bigger than goats hurried through the fork.
Vine and Vex waited for a wago
n drawn by four horses to pass before crossing to the center platform. Dara could tell Vex had Vine’s arm in an unyielding grip. To passersby, though, they could have looked like an attractive couple out for a stroll.
“You’re from Vertigon, aren’t you?” the young mercenary asked behind her.
“Yes.”
“I was born there, but I don’t remember a bit of it,” he said. “My parents left when I was a babe in arms.”
“Did you grow up in Fork Town?” Dara asked, not looking away from the road below. Vine and Vex had reached the center of the roundabout. None of his bodyguards accompanied them, but Vex was armed. Dara had seen him spar enough to know he was more than capable without them.
“I grew up here and there,” the young mercenary said. “Fork Town is home for now, but who knows later? Got to make my fortune first.”
“There’s good money in mercenary work?”
“If you get with the right team, there is. It’s all in your team and your blade. We don’t usually guard kidnapped women, though.”
“Hmm.” Dara thought of Siv apparently joining up with a squad of pen fighters. She knew how much of a burden the kingship had been for him. Maybe he too was enticed by the idea of making his fortune with his blade alone. She didn’t like the possibility that he wasn’t trying to get back to her, though. There must be more to the story.
Dara tensed as Vine climbed onto the brick platform at the center of the fork. She closed her eyes and adopted the familiar cross-legged Sensing posture. Lord Vex alternated between watching her and scanning the three forks. Could she feel anything? She’d used the Air on occasion in Vertigon. She must be able to do it here too. But what would she tell Lord Vex?
“You all came in from Trure, right?” the young mercenary asked affably. He clearly hadn’t been given orders not to talk to her.
“Yes.”
“Did you see any Soolens? I hear they invaded. Came bursting right out of Cindral Forest in the middle of a rainstorm.”
“I don’t know any details,” Dara said. “The news broke while we were in Tollan.”
“Tollan’s a decent town. We go through there all the time.”
“I don’t know when people will be able to travel through there again,” Dara said. “They walled up Kurn Pass when we left.”
How long could Vine keep it up down there? She was excellent at stalling, but Siv needed as big a head start as possible. Even from this distance, Dara could see Vex tapping his foot impatiently. How long before he decided to follow the rumors about the Pendarkan pen fighters regardless of Vine’s Senses?
“That’s what I hear,” the mercenary said. “Say, could you tell me more about Vertigon? It’s so far away. I don’t meet many folks who’ve actually been there.”
“What do you know about it already?”
On the platform beneath her, Vine shifted her position with a sudden, jerky manner. That was unusual for her during meditations. It was as if she had just realized something. Or Sensed something. Dara clutched the edge of the windowsill as if it were a weapon.
The young mercenary launched into a fanciful description of Vertigon where the people rode on dragons and all the bridges were made of Firegold. Dara let his words wash over her as she concentrated on Vine, looking for another movement like the one before. Had she Sensed Siv just now?
Suddenly a dark shape blurred through the air above the fork and collided with Lord Vex. A tall figure hurtled across the street after it, dodging carriages and riders, and tossed something to Vine that glinted in the sun. A sword.
33.
The Fork
THE thing that had hit Lord Vex spread its wings wide and launched into the air again. A cur-dragon! It swooped and swerved around Lord Vex’s head. He drew his sword and took a swipe at it. While Lord Vex was distracted, the tall figure leapt onto the brick platform with Vine. At first Dara thought it was Siv, but then she recognized Tann Ridon’s gangly frame. Rid had followed them! And he had brought Rumy.
The cur-dragon heaved dragon fire at Lord Vex. The Rollendar lord dove out of the way just in time. Rumy breathed more fire, herding Vex farther away from Vine and Rid.
But Vex’s mercenaries kept a close watch, and they charged across the busy road to join the fray. People from the town ran to watch the fight, and curses and shouts rose as mercenaries and spectators got in the way of the riders and carriages trying to make their way through the fork.
Steel flashed in the center of it all. Vine and Rid could barely fend off Vex’s men from their position atop the brick platform, the three-faced statue at their backs. They needed Dara’s help.
“What’s going on out there?” the young Vertigonian mercenary asked, his voice suddenly sharp. Dara hadn’t noticed when he stopped babbling about Vertigon. He strode closer to her but not too close, his hand firm on his sword. Despite his youth, he was no amateur.
But Dara wasn’t either. She pressed her face to the glass again, acting absorbed in the fight down in the street. Vine was an excellent swordswoman, and she held off the mercenaries—barely. Rid’s staff whipped through the air, occasionally connecting with a head or a weapon. It was only a matter of time before the blades made it through. They were outnumbered six to two.
“There’s a fight in the street,” Dara said. “I think your team is involved. They’re losing.”
“Eh?” The young mercenary took a few steps closer. When he was near enough for Dara to feel his breath on her cheek, she drove her elbow backward into his gut.
He grunted and reached for her, but Dara was already moving. She darted across the room, grabbing the water pitcher from the table and hurling it behind her at the young mercenary without breaking her stride. She burst out of the private dining room and into the narrow hallway. Another mercenary waited there, but she ran past him before he could get his sword all the way out of its sheath.
Dara threw herself down the narrow stairs to the common room of the inn and out the front door before anyone could react. Shouts rose behind her, but she ignored them. This was their only chance.
When she emerged into the sunlight, Vine still held her ground atop the brick platform. She danced back and forth, jabbing and twirling with all the grace and speed that had made her such an excellent duelist. Dara was still unarmed. She needed a distraction.
“Rumy!” she shouted as she dashed across the road. A pair of riders pulled up sharply, cursing at her as she rushed in front of their horses. “Rumy! I need Fire!”
The creature heard. With a joyful squawk he flew over Lord Vex’s head and streaked toward her, a bright flame already building in his throat. Dara raised both hands as Rumy soared above her and let loose a burst of dragon fire. Screams rose from the onlookers that had gathered to watch the battle in the fork.
Rumy’s flame felt like a warm breath of summer wind on Dara’s skin. Within it, flickering jets of true Fire spewed through the air—noticeably more than the last time they tried this. Dara sucked the flames to her as if they were her last breath. The Fire soaked into her skin, into her blood. She gloried in the familiar sensation for an instant. She had missed this. She didn’t want to let it go. But there was no time to delay.
Dara Worked the Fire within her, pulling the wild, flickering residue into a cohesive stream. Then she dove onto the brick platform, scraping all the skin off her elbows as she went. She touched the foot of the ancient statue and forced the Fire into it.
“Get ready to run!” she bellowed to Vine and Rid. The fighting men pressed them hard, and she wasn’t sure if they heard her. The clash of steel filled the smoky air as their weapons whirled, frantic now. They wouldn’t last much longer.
The metal beneath Dara’s fingers began to melt. Working with Fire from Rumy still wasn’t smooth, but she didn’t need this to be elegant. The Fire flowed through the statue like blood through veins, melting its ancient iron. Rust and paint flaked off and fell around Dara like snow. Then with a squeal and a hiss, the statue moved.
Gasps
rose from the crowd gathered outside the roundabout. The statue turned on the platform, guided by Dara’s power. Fingers of molten iron snaked out from it, supported and directed by the Fire. The fingers thickened, draining more iron from the figure and sharpening into spikes. The writhing mass of spikes and white-hot metal shifted with a groan. Then the statue began to walk.
Dara rolled out of the way, directing its lurching, ungainly steps with the Fire like a hand inside a puppet. She had no idea what she was doing, acting on instinct and desperation. The iron spikes flailed dangerously close to Vine, but she simply danced out of the way, getting in a quick jab to the wrist of one of the mercenaries as she went. The man was too busy staring at the moving statue to notice.
In fact, all the mercenaries were staring at the statue as if it were a devil made flesh.
“Now!” Dara gasped.
Vine grabbed Rid—who was gaping as much as the mercenaries—and took off running across the street. None of Wick’s men raised a hand to stop her.
Dara closed her eyes for a moment, Working the hunk of iron so that it was no longer quite so supple. She solidified it as she’d done with the bars of her cage back in King Atrin’s dungeon. Then she used the last bits of Fire to make it spin.
The statue dropped off the platform and whirled, moving toward the men who’d been fighting Vine and Rid. The men shrieked and leapt out of the way as the spikes of iron sliced the air like a hundred razor blades. Dara stared after it for an instant, shocked that it was actually spinning. She’d practiced Working Fireblossoms on their journey, and she used the same principle to spin a knot of Fire and shove it into the iron figure with a prayer. And it was working!
She jumped off the platform and ran after Vine and Rid. She didn’t know how long the thing would spin, but she wasn’t taking any chances. She couldn’t see her companions anymore. The Fork was a wild jumble of gaping onlookers, fretting horses, and carriages. Where were they?
steel and fire 03 - dance of steel Page 33