by R. K. Thorne
Miara tapped her chin. Interesting. Very interesting. Some part of her heart had relaxed, quieted at those words. “I’m sorry. Get some rest. I’ll wake you in a few hours.”
“Any sign of it?” Jaena and Ro had been searching for the inn for about an hour. Anonil’s narrow streets wound in twisted, odd patterns, doubling back on each other. Was the city that large, or were they just getting repeatedly lost?
Ro shook his head. “Not down there. Have we been here before?”
“I thought the same thing.” She scanned again to make sure she hadn’t missed a sign bearing an apple and arrow. They huddled in a side street, and not for the first time, she felt a little like someone was watching her, someone who had noticed that they were looking for something or were having trouble finding their destination. Or at the very least, noticing that they were from out of town. She had traveled enough to know that made them a target, but so did asking for the location from random passersby. They’d tried to play the part of natives as well as they could, but if they had truly doubled back, they might need to break down and just ask someone soon.
“Let’s try to go to the town’s farthest edge and work back from there. Maybe it will help us figure out if we’re going in circles.”
He nodded crisply. He strode on one side of Yada, leading her by the reins, while Jaena strode on the other. Each watched the side streets for signs of the inn Miara had mentioned.
As they reached the far town wall, they finally found the inn. Practically leaning into the wall itself, the whitewashed exterior had cheery weavings of colorful fall leaves in the window boxes and hung on the front door.
“I’ll look inside for a contact and get us a room if I can. You look for a stable,” she said.
“No, I’m staying with you.” He looped Yada’s reins around a nearby post. She shrugged and let him follow. He was probably right.
They stepped inside, and the pleasant heat of the tavern hit her. She searched the room, wondering—what was she even looking for? How was she going to find it? She took a deep breath.
To her left, an innkeeper yelled out something in a language she didn’t understand, looking hopeful. Jaena stepped away to her right, pretending not to notice him.
Ro squeezed her shoulder, then stalked toward the man, tossing words back in the same language. Good. If he could get them a room, she could focus on finding their contact. Perhaps he’d even get them a better price, chattering away as they were. She leaned against the wall and studied the patrons of the tavern that took up the lower floor of the inn.
As she watched, several of them met her eye warily. Too warily. It made her uneasy. A man in a gray vest, a woman in brown robes. A red-haired, bearded man sat by the fire. All seemed to be watching around them rather too intently.
A man wearing a midnight-blue tabard got up and approached. “Are you looking for someone, my lady?”
“Perhaps.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Why do you want to know?”
Words from Ro’s argument with the innkeeper drifted toward her, Farsai being among them. Oh, by the seven hells, she was not from Farsa.
“Come from Kavanar, perhaps?” The man in the midnight tabard caught her attention once again. Now that he was closer, she could see the faint embroidery of a bear, sword, and shield in the same dark navy color—the royal Akarian symbols. “My lord and his… friend, a Lady Miara, sent me to be on the lookout for friends arriving.”
His lord? Was Miara with an Akarian noble? How had she ended up there? Still, a wave of relief washed over her. “Indeed, that is who I seek.” She hated to admit it so blatantly without thinking over ten different ways this could be a trap, but she had no other way. Miara had given her no secret sign or symbol.
He nodded. “You just missed them; my lord left here but an hour ago.”
She cocked her head. Were they talking about the same thing? Now she felt less sure.
“My orders are to send word. Your room at the inn is covered. Refresh yourself while I catch up with them and request further orders. Our original orders were to leave for Estun immediately, but they have left Estun and apparently had some… troubles along the way. We may wish to ride south.” The way the man’s face darkened twisted the knots in her stomach. What could he mean by all that? But it seemed a fair enough plan.
“My companion can join me, I assume?” She waved with a relieved smile at where Ro was still chatting with the innkeeper. Both looked almost nostalgic, as if their minds had drifted elsewhere.
“Of course. Shev, show them to a room, on my coin, please.”
Tharomar blinked, eyebrows raised in surprise, and the innkeeper—Shev—froze a moment before he processed the response. Then he nodded and hurried to snap up a set of keys. The blacksmith followed the innkeeper toward the stairs, Shev continuing to enthuse over something as they climbed.
The man showed them to a room, all smiles and bows, and then handed them their own key. Must be a fine inn to have locks and keys. She had come to expect them in her travels with her father, but most inns did not have any way to secure their rooms. Her father had traveled with several armed soldiers, although obviously not enough. They hadn’t been able to withstand the Devoted when they had come. As the innkeeper sauntered away humming, Ro shook his head, smiling.
“What was that all about?” Jaena asked.
“Our dear innkeeper is missing the warmer winters of Farsa just about now. Heard we were foreign ‘merchants’ and hoped we’d come from there with some sugared violets or vanilla from the southern kingdoms.”
She snorted. They were all foreigners here, weren’t they? Because they weren’t in Hepan or Kavanar or even Farsa anymore. Her heart gave a little jump. They had made it to Akaria. One small victory. They had made it this far. “He probably couldn’t afford such things even if we had them.”
“A man can dream.”
“Think he’d be interested in any Kavanarian iron?” Six of his smaller pieces had fit into her knapsack along with the brand.
“You’re the merchant. I warmed him up for you.”
At that, she couldn’t suppress a smile. “Guess we should stable the horse before we settle in here?”
He nodded. “Did you find the right person?”
“I didn’t have any sign or symbol to go on. I guess knowing this inn was where I should go should have been enough of a sign. He approached me. I hope he really is who he says he is. He said that my… friends were just here an hour ago. He left to pass word to them.”
He frowned, thoughtful. “Well, not much other option. Keep your guard up.”
“As always.”
They headed downstairs. She glanced at the room. The red-bearded man by the fire was gone. But then again, he could simply have been finished with his meal or ale or whatever he’d been doing there. It was a tavern, after all.
And yet…
“What is it?” he said as he unhooked Yada’s reins.
“One man from the tavern is gone now. It might be nothing, but…”
“But our ‘friends’ from last evening headed this direction when last we saw them.”
She nodded, scanning the area around them again. “Exactly.”
“Let’s go.” She didn’t know when he had ascertained the location of the stable, or if he even had. They looped back and to the left, around the outside town wall that was also the back wall of the inn. A massive stable waited. They led Yada inside, ears perked, watching.
Once inside, Ro moved more quickly, guiding Yada into the stable swiftly as he pointed at a nearby ladder. She headed for it, going up into a loft where bales of hay waited to be eaten by equine guests.
A window let in light off to her right and looked out over the inn’s roof, down a long street that cut nearly straight through Anonil. She could see all the way to the far wall and the southern gate. Damn, if only they’d tried this road or the southern gate first, she thought numbly. There was no time for that, though, because something much worse approached
.
Six Devoted, marching neatly in three rows of two men, crossbows on their backs and headed their way.
As she just stared, trying to think of what to do, Ro joined her. She pointed, and he swore.
“Gods… They’re coming—you have to go.”
“What are you talking about?
“Follow that man. I’ll stay here to delay them.”
“Not a chance.” But even as she watched, more Devoted poured from the building these ones had left. Four black hoods. No, six. Now ten. Gods. She and Ro had a few moments to debate, as the Devoted were still several streets away, but it wouldn’t be long before the knights were upon them.
He swore again. “I bet that damn innkeeper ran and got them as soon as he left us. You have to get the brand out of here.”
“No—I can’t leave you to them.”
“Yes, you can. They’re not looking for me, remember? The most important thing is that they don’t retake the brand. Clearly someone told them we’re here. You’ve got to get it out of here. And they might know your face, with that drawing going around, but mine is less likely.”
“But—”
“You also know the ones who freed you. I don’t. I’ll fight them. Get it to your friends. You’ve got to do this, Jaena.”
“I can’t leave you—”
“Come on, let’s go.” He put a hand on her arm, gentle but firm, urging her toward the ladder with him. She relented and followed him down the ladder. “You’ve got to get the brand to someone powerful enough to stand up to them, and that’s not me. Besides, I’m more equipped to fight them. And I’m uninjured.”
“That— No. That doesn’t mean you should take on a suicide mission, we could both run—” Gods, not again. The intensity of the panic and emotion that swept through her shocked her.
“Yada can’t do two of us again, not after all this, not with any speed. She might be able to manage you.” He was getting Yada back out of the stable, the streak of white in his hair picking up more than its share of the dim stable’s light. Calm, gentle, hardworking hands patted Yada’s neck, comforting the mare even as the horse sensed their unease.
Gods, if she never saw him again… She thought of the moments close to him when he’d discovered she was a mage, the way he had looked longingly at her lips in the morning light, the way his fingers had lingered for just a moment when he’d helped her onto the horse.
“Come on, you need to go.” He held out his hands to help her into the saddle.
Instead, she grabbed onto him, pulling him closer to her.
“I’ll follow,” he whispered, his lips inches from hers. His eyes said he knew he couldn’t, but she didn’t blame him for saying so. Perhaps he could outsmart them, though, or hide. Whatever he did, it would delay them and buy her time.
“They are too many. We could fight them together—”
“I’ll find you, all right? I’ll find you. This is not goodbye. Don’t even say it. Just go. Now. They’ve got to be almost here.”
She didn’t listen and instead leaned closer. He stiffened, but she pressed her lips to his, soft, but insistent. There was no time, and this was foolish… but what other chance would they have? She threw her arms over his shoulders, the brand in its knapsack probably jutting into his back.
His lips parted, and she nearly dropped her burden as he returned her kiss with a surprising hunger. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her hard against him. A flood of heat shot through her.
Just a moment longer. She needed to remember this moment, and his mouth, for all of her days.
She broke away first and hesitated only a split second before she hobbled straight for the horse. He helped her up, and now more than ever his hands lingered on her fingers, her hip, her thigh. She squeezed his hand one more time. “In case guilt doesn’t lure you back to me, maybe that will.”
He snorted.
“Promise me you’ll follow.” Damn, she’d hoped to hide the note of desperation in her voice. “Don’t let them catch you, Tharomar. There’s no telling what they’ll do.”
He nodded, squeezed back, and stepped away. “I’ll do everything I can to delay them. And I’ll do my best to follow. Now, Jaena—please. Go.”
She dug in her heels, ankle aching, and the horse surged forward. She bent close to the horse’s back, clinging to the mane to avoid prying eyes.
South. She could only hope the man in the midnight tabard had been telling the truth.
15
The White City
Tharomar spared himself a single moment to stare after her, struggling to process what had just happened. All this time, she had longed for him as well? Or had that kiss just been some kind of good-bye born of passion and fear that would fade in the light of day? He had met her advances, hungry for her, eager to admit that he’d felt the same way. Regretting he hadn’t done so sooner.
South. Hopefully she was headed that direction for a reason. And… hopefully he could follow.
Tharomar climbed back up the ladder into the stable’s loft. He would need every advantage he could muster if they figured out he was here. He ducked behind stacks of hay bales, quieted himself, and waited.
If they heard Jaena racing away, there were no shouts after her, no horse hooves. Likely, they were still searching the inn and their room. But now, a woman’s voice called out from the front of the inn.
“Search the area. Find them.”
How many Devoted would check the stables, all of them or just part of the group? Would they be thorough? Would they use their lanterns, or actually check? Had they realized their lanterns had failed them before?
Unfortunately for him, it looked like his luck had finally run out. They, very logically, headed straight for the stables, and while he couldn’t see all of them enter between the slats in the loft floor, at least eight drifted in, scanning for him. A lot for any warrior to handle. A chestnut-haired woman followed them with a severe expression, murder on her mind. He had a feeling she looked that way often.
As two of them started up the ladder, he made his move. He launched his two throwing knives and took one knight down but missed the other—knives were hardly his forte. With a swift kick, he sent hay bales toppling onto the other knights below.
Ro charged the one remaining knight in the loft head-on, taking a wild slash at the Devoted’s neck and chest before diving into a roll toward the stable wall. Hopefully that would put him out of projectile range from those down below. Perhaps if he could slowly lure the Devoted one at a time up the ladder, maybe he could pick them off one by one.
Three more flooded the loft. Damn, they’d found a second ladder. He glanced around, frantic. How could he use this loft to his best advantage? A crossbow quarrel thunked into the wood just above his head, interrupting his thoughts. The three had narrowed in on him and just about had him cornered.
He kicked at the closest one’s stomach and got lucky, sending him toppling. The next lunged at him, then the third, though, sending him down hard. He thrashed, but two against one, they easily managed to wrest his sword from his grip. Now the blows came, and he braced himself, twisted, kicked. These Devoted seemed more interested in pummeling him into submission than actually killing him, but he would give them no such quarter.
He managed to get to his knees. The bigger one was a bit overconfident, and on his next swing, Tharomar caught the fist and pulled, sending his attacker reeling off-balance. In nearly the same motion, Tharomar darted forward, over the Devoted’s body, lurching for the nearby window. Maybe if he could just get out of it, he could get away from them or delay them just a little longer with a wilder chase.
Without entirely thinking it through, he thrust himself at the window, the wooden shutter swinging wildly and clanging, and he fell.
He hit the ground hard on his back, the air flying out of him. He needed to get up, but for a moment he was barely able to focus on breathing. He gasped for one breath, then another, then heaved himself up. He staggered three steps forwar
d and around the corner of the barn, darting into the darkness between the buildings.
If he could make it to the end, then turn left, he could just maybe—
The tip of a blade met him, its point hovering in the air somewhere between his neck and his nose. The woman who so longed for death. He raised his gaze to meet hers.
She had eyes of beautiful crystalline blue beneath that murderous glare. Someone so dark didn’t deserve such eyes. “Where is she, and where is the brand?” she demanded.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.
“Throw him back inside and torch the place,” she ordered.
He gaped, in spite of himself. “But the horses—”
She gave him a withering look as another Devoted grabbed him, dragging him back toward the stables. Tharomar wasn’t above an underhanded attack and sent a fist deep into the man’s gut, but five more swarmed him, pulling him toward the stables.
They threw him to his knees amid the tumbled hay. One leveled a cruel kick at his temple, sending him reeling and into the dust and chaff, black splotches flashing before his eyes.
“I’ll give you one more chance. That renegade mage you were helping. Where is she? Tell me, and perhaps you will go free.” The woman and her sword had returned, leveled at his neck. She must be the knight, he thought. Were these others even knights, or simply her squires? “I said, tell me if you want your freedom,” she pressed.
Freedom? No chance of that now. He highly doubted he would even survive. Fine with him. He’d gone down in the battle he’d chosen to fight, and not without causing them trouble along the way. He would die in service of his mission.
It would have been nice to find out if anything waited on the other side of that kiss, or if they would regret it after the danger had passed. But it was too late. For him, the danger was not going to pass.
He shook his head. “I told you I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She lifted the blade point and sent a swift kick to his shoulder, rolling him from his side to his back with the force of it. Then she put one booted foot to his neck and pressed ever so slightly. “You’d forfeit your life for this mage? This seed of corruption? Tell me where she is.”