The first place I thought a travel-worn ex-soldier might go was to the tanner’s. A leather shop was easy to find in any village, and by the state of Kestral’s boots, I thought he might have been getting them repaired. But as I stopped in to say hello to the shop owner, it was clear my quarry hadn’t been there.
Perhaps the smith, then. I followed the sounds of ringing steel to see if the traveler had stopped for a new edge on his sword, or some horseshoes or nails. After a moment of flirting with a young apprentice, I learned that he hadn’t come here either. With a wink and a wave, I left the open-air shop.
Where else, then? He hadn’t taken any meals at the Broken Wing and that was the cheapest inn in town. It seemed he was hard-up for funds, as he had taken Wix’s broken window room, so it was unlikely he would eat anywhere else. Was he hunting for his own food? The town was surrounded by forests full of game birds and hoofed-beasts, so catching a free meal was certainly an option. Did he have a bow? I hadn’t seen one in his room, but he could have left supplies in the stable with his mount.
In any case, if he was a hunter he would need arrows. With little hope of finding him, I meandered over to the only fletcher in town. With luck, it was the tradesman’s daughter who tended the shop, and for the price of a smile she admitted that the mysterious Kestral had stopped by early that morning. He had paid a copper sliver for unfletched shafts, nothing more. I left before her father could chase me out of the shop; I had learned by accident that he kept a bevy of loaded crossbows below the sales counter and had frightfully good aim. That wasn’t quite enough to keep me from watching the girl bent over her work, gluing feathers to shafts, but it was enough to keep me from pinching her behind. Barely.
If Kestral was out hunting, there was no way I would find him. The forest was vast, and I wasn’t an outdoorsman by any stretch. He would come back to the inn and with any luck he would have a fresh kill to gut and clean, which maybe meant some scraps for me if I was careful. Rather than continue my fruitless search, I returned to Wix’s inn to wait. Not wanting to admit that I hadn’t found Kestral, I circled around back to the stable. Maybe I could get an idea of what might make him laugh by checking out the gear he had stored with his mount.
A snorting, stamping, snapping mutt of a horse challenged me as I entered the stable. I tried letting him smell my hand, but he pinned his ears and lunged at me over the door of his stall, so I stepped back out of his reach. That was strange; animals generally found me likeable enough. I couldn’t make out which breed he was, but he looked strong and sturdy, just like his rider. He had roan coloring with a white blaze and a black mane and tail.
Must be a trained warhorse, I decided. That would be why he didn’t like me. He was probably trained to only accept his rider.
A heavy leather saddle was set just outside the horse’s stall, along with a few other personal items—nothing worth stealing, of course. The saddle itself looked ready to fall apart and had been inexpertly patched in many places. Parts of the horse’s bridle had also been tied together haphazardly, but the bit was shiny and clean, so at least he cared for the beast’s health and comfort. The long haft of a spear was braced against the saddle. The wood was smooth but slightly thinner in the middle, perhaps from a lifetime of being carried, handled and thrown. A tied leather cloth covered the spearhead, but I imagined it was shiny and sharp as the sword had been.
Who is this guy? I wondered, leaning back against the far stable wall. The ill-tempered horse continued to eye me warily, pacing back and forth in his stall, daring me to come closer, but I wasn’t that stupid. Instead, I pondered the enigma that was Kestral, the maybe-former-soldier. He took pains to keep his weapons in top condition and he cared for his mount better than he cared for himself, judging by the amount of quality hay scattered around the stall door. But his leathers were falling apart, and his clothing was patched. He’d paid half-price for a room in a no-name town and hunted for his own food rather than pay for it. Was he an army deserter? A disgraced knight? A bandit trying to turn his life around?
Well, whatever the story, he would be gone in three days, so I might as well not worry about it. I arched away from the wall, brushed the hay dust off my hands onto my pants and turned to leave.
And found myself face to face with the man I had been searching for all day.
His blue eyes were muted by the sunlight behind him, but I found them no less piercing. His hair was a mess, not just wind-tossed, but also decorated with leaves and small twigs. His shirt was unlaced near his throat, baring tanned skin that looked warm to the touch. Against his shoulder he carried an unstrung longbow, and in his other hand he held a pair of waterbirds. Clearly his hunt had been successful.
“Uh, hi,” I said after a long pause.
A long moment passed before he spoke. “You were in the inn yesterday.”
“I . . . uh—” He didn’t mean last night, right? There was no way he could recognize—no, take a breath. He saw me in the bar when he reserved his room. “Yeah, I’m here most days.”
His face betrayed no emotion at all; it made me more than a little uncomfortable. “Do you work for Miss Chesawick?”
Who? Oh, Wix. “Sometimes. Kind of. When I have to.” I shrugged, offering an embarrassed smile. “I’m the town drunk when I can afford it. I do chores for Wi—Miss Chesawick when I can’t.”
He continued to stare me down. Finally, he nodded. He stepped past me to lay his bow against his saddle, but even as he shuffled through his personal affects, I got the feeling he was still watching me closely.
“I wasn’t stealing anything,” I said, folding my arms over my chest.
“You couldn’t if you tried.” He stood and held out his hand to his horse. “Shan would have kicked your teeth out.”
The beastly horse lipped his master’s hand with obvious affection.
“He tried that anyway,” I muttered darkly.
“Sorry about that.” He didn’t sound sorry. In fact, his voice held no emotion. He turned back to face me and suddenly held out a hand. “I’m Kestral.”
“Reshi.” I reached out to grasp his hand but had to whip my hand away as Shan snapped at it. “Any chance we could finish introductions away from the carnivorous horse?”
A hint of a smile played on his lips as he turned his head, giving me only a glimpse of it. He gave Shan a final pat, then followed me outside.
“Can I clean these out here?” Kestral asked, indicating the waterbirds.
“Sure, the innkeeper won’t mind. Use the fire pit.”
Kestral sat on a stump, pulled a knife from his belt and began cleaning his kills. I sat opposite him and watched as he expertly feathered and gutted the birds, quickly reducing them down to mouthwatering cuts of flesh.
“Town drunk, hm?” Kestral asked, not looking up from his work.
“Oh, yeah, officially anyway.” My stomach rolled as I watched him. I was hungry, sure, but his knife work was so good it was intimidating.
“And unofficially?” Kestral asked, dropping innards into a pile beside his boot.
“Hm?” I smiled across the fire pit at him. “I don’t understand the question.”
He glanced up, meeting my gaze for the first time since we sat down. “You have unusually colored eyes. Mage blood?”
I looked away hurriedly. Dust it, what had I gotten into? “Possibly. I grew up in an orphanage in Giltner until they kicked me out. Ended up here after a time.” I shrugged. “Are you a mage hunter? Should I be running?”
Kestral turned his attention back to his waterbird. “Of a kind. There haven’t been any reports of magic use in these parts, so maybe you’re not. I don’t recommend you run, though.”
“Why is that?”
Those blue eyes pierced me again. “Because then I’ll have to chase you.”
My stomach dropped as if I had fallen from a height, my breath leaving my chest in a rush. I placed my hands against the stump I sat on just to have something to hold on to. My mouth went dry and a weird, fl
uttery sensation seized my gut. What kind of magic was this?
Kestral opened a belt pouch, took out his flint then frowned. “Is there a cooking tripod?”
“Yeah, Wix keeps it inside.” I stood up. “I can get it.”
“Wix?”
I flinched. “Miss Chesawick. Sorry, I usually only call her that when I’ve been drinking.”
Kestral nodded slowly. He began setting fire to the logs as I trotted to the inn’s back door for the cooking utensils. If I was lucky, maybe he’d share some meat with me. I caught my reflection in a silver bowl and silently cursed my golden eyes. Why hadn’t I guessed that he could be a mage hunter? I should have started running yesterday, before he got a good look at me. Now all I could do was bluff and wait him out. I gathered Wix’s cooking rods and carried them back outside with me.
“Copper?” Kestral asked as I set up the tripod.
“Yep. That’s why she keeps them inside. Not as practical as iron, but prettier.” I smiled. “The miss likes pretty things.”
“Are you and she—”
“Wait, don’t!” Kestral had just thrown the waterbird feathers and innards into the fire. I hadn’t meant to cry out, but I had been hoping to make a meal of them after nightfall.
“What?” Kestral froze at my cry, but the damage was done. “You wanted the scraps for something?”
“No, no, just . . .” Something plausible, think of anything plausible! “Aren’t you supposed to leave some for the fairies?” It was a poor excuse and I knew it. Worse, I would have to apologize to Wix for it later.
Kestral cocked an eyebrow, making the third facial expression I had seen from him so far. “I think that’s milk and honey. Not bird guts.”
“Well, sure, for most fairies.” I shrugged. “What with your bloodthirsty horse, I thought maybe we should consider appeasing any carnivorous fairies he might summon.”
It started as a chuckle, which he quickly tried to hide by covering his mouth with a hand. But then his shoulders shook, his sides trembled, and he tossed his head back and laughed. Loud and hard, his eyes shut, throat bared as peal after peal of laughter freed itself from his chest. It was such a beautiful sight that I almost forgot my bet with Wix. Almost.
Dust it all, why couldn’t I be this witty inside the inn? I glanced around, looking for the nearest piece of living wood to confirm the laughter, but the barn was too far away, and the stumps were made of pine. Wix would never take the word of a pine.
Oh well, I thought, sighing out my frustration. At least now I knew he could laugh.
Wiping his eyes with the back of one hand, Kestral leaned forward, regaining his composure. He shook his head, but his smile lit his face for a few moments more. To distract himself, he rotated the waterbirds over the fire. Another head shake and the smile faded.
“Thanks.”
“What for?”
“I haven’t laughed like that in a long time.”
“Oh.” I leaned back, placing my hands behind me. “Why not?”
That was exactly the wrong question to ask. His face became so shadowed that I briefly wondered if I had imagined his laughter. Rather than answer, he reached out to the closest waterbird and snapped a wing free.
“Here.” He threw it to me.
I was so surprised I bobbled it before catching it. “What’s this for?”
“You aren’t here to eat?”
“No, well . . . thank you.” I had been drooling over the birds. The thicker pieces of meat still had a while to cook, but the wings had crisped up nicely.
Kestral snapped the second wing off for himself. He stared broodingly into the fire as he ate, stripping the bone in seconds, then cracked it open to suck out the marrow.
I wanted to ask him more about his past, to know if he had been a soldier, or if he really was a mage hunter. I wanted to know if he had participated in the Great Mage Hunt, though he seemed a little young for that. Come to that, how old was he? That wasn’t too personal a question, right? As I opened my mouth to ask, the back door to the inn flew open.
“Here you boys are! Fast friends already, my doves?” Wix bounced through the back door bearing a strip of oilcloth. “I saw you cooking and I thought you might want to save one for later. Would you like me to wrap one and store it in the cold box?”
Wix leaned over to flourish the oilcloth in front of Kestral’s face, displaying as much of her bosom as was possibly decent.
I leaned back on my stump, struggling to keep my mouth shut. I wanted to warn Kestral about Wix’s exchanges but if I did she would certainly kick me out of her inn. My sense of self-preservation won out over the possibility of making a new friend.
Kestral met Wix’s smile evenly as he wiped the grease from his fingers onto his pants. “No, thank you. I have my own oilcloth.”
“Oh.” Wix’s face fell, but she recovered quickly. “I can still place it in my cold box until you want to eat it.”
“I’ll eat it tonight, so the cold box is unnecessary.” Kestral shifted the tripod, dragging the waterbirds out from over the flames. He swiped his booted foot through the fire, scattering the logs into embers to burn out.
“If you’re sure.” Wix’s mouth twisted. “Would you like any herbs for the meat? Or butter? How about some ale to wash it down?”
Kestral glanced across the fire pit to me. “Did you need some ale, town drunk?”
“Ah, well, if it’s freely offered, I wouldn’t say no.” I smiled up at Wix.
Wix puffed up her cheeks and clenched her fists. She was far too easy to read sometimes. After a breath, she was able to force a smile. “I can’t turn much of a profit, giving away free ale. If you flutterbugs get thirsty I’ll serve you inside.” With a wink and a flounce, Wix bounded back to the inn.
Kestral laid a finger against the copper cooking rod and seemed to decide it had cooled enough to free the cooked birds. He wrapped one in an oilcloth from his belt pouch, then cut pieces off the other one and split the meat into two piles.
“You don’t have to share with me,” I said.
He shot me a look with those piercing eyes.
“I mean, if that’s what you were doing. It looks like—but, I’m saying I don’t need any more. I just . . . I’m enjoying your company.”
The expression on his face betrayed his skepticism as he went back to cutting up the waterbird. “Why not? Are you afraid of being in my debt?” He bundled half the meat in a pocket cloth and held it out to me. I hesitated before taking it. I would rather collect my bet from Wix, but then again, she probably wouldn’t take the pine’s word that I had managed to make Kestral laugh. And the waterbird did smell delicious, even if it was under-seasoned.
“Mmm.” The skin was nice and crisp, and the meat was juicy. I noticed Kestral watching as I wiped my chin with a corner of the pocket cloth. “So now what? I guess I’m in your debt, right? Don’t ask me to buy you anything, I’m flat broke.”
Kestral chuckled. He took his time licking grease off his fingers before replying. “It’s been several days of hard travel. I think Shan could use a good bath.”
I shuddered. “That sounds like you’re asking me to bleed for you. Isn’t that a high price for a bit of bird?”
Those blue eyes studied me for a moment. “Is that a no?”
My brow furrowed as I studied him back. What game was this? “Do you really want me to wash that mean-tempered animal? You saw him try to take my hand off, didn’t you?”
Kestral shrugged a dismissal. “If he wanted your hand, he’d have it.”
“That doesn’t make me feel any better about bathing him.”
“All right. Then show me around town tomorrow.”
“It’s a pretty small town. Do you really need a guide?”
He shrugged again, dropping bird bones into the remains of the fire. “In my experience, small towns tend to take advantage of travelers. Having a local with me might keep more coin in my pocket.”
“Ah.” I leaned back on my stump, tucking my ha
nds behind my head. “I don’t know how much help I’d be with that. The town drunk isn’t exactly the most respectable person in town.”
“But I’ll wager you’re well known to everyone.” Kestral pinned me with his eyes again. “It won’t take long. An hour or two.”
I rolled my shoulders, pretending to think it over. “Ah, fine. It’s not like I had a lot planned for tomorrow, anyway.” Actually, I had no plans at all, but he didn’t need to know that.
“What exactly does the town drunk do, anyway?”
I smirked. “Hang around the bar tonight and find out.” Having finished the waterbird, I wiped my fingers clean with the pocket cloth and stood to go inside. Kestral held his hand out to me and I looked at it in confusion.
“My cloth.”
“I’ll wash it and get it back to you.”
“I’ll have it now.”
Was he worried I would steal it? “Okay.” I handed it over and walked back to the inn. I felt his eyes on me the whole way.
“I swear, Wix, I made him laugh! Ask the wood around the fire pit, he really laughed!”
“Oh, ask the pine.” Wix rolled her eyes. “I might as well ask a krupper for directions. Really, Reshi, I can’t believe you would try to lie to me like this.”
“I’m not lying.” I leaned against the bar, my arms crossed over my chest. “He really laughed. It was beautiful.”
“Just make him do it again.” Wix stood atop the bar, refilling the oil in the ceiling sconces. “In front of respectable wood this time.”
I sighed. “You know I don’t really understand what you mean by that, right? What’s so bad about pine?”
“If you don’t know, I can’t explain it to you.” Wix sniffed. She hopped lithely from one end of the bar to the other, balancing on a single toe to reach the hanging sconce.
“Are there any other wagers you’re willing to take in exchange for food?” I asked hopefully.
“As a matter of fact, yes.” Wix set both feet down on the bar and placed her hands on her hips. “I will make you wake-tea tomorrow if you’ll wash your clothes. The oak is beginning to complain.”
Sorcerous Rivalry (The Mage-Born Chronicles Book 1) Page 2