by Jeff Wheeler
“You’re not listening to me,” the Sorian soothed. “The tides change with the moon. I’ve seen them change long enough to see the pattern. Listen to my counsel. Miestri is the youngest Sorian among us. This is her first real conquest in centuries since she seduced a Shae watchpost. I’ve juggled dozens more complicated than this. Hear me out. Dairron’s intention is to bring the Shae into this, but maybe we can forestall him. We need to understand who this Shae lad is. He was warded for a reason. He is the linchpin, Tsyrke. Find him, and we can turn this around to our favor.”
“And how do we find this Shae boy?”
“The same way we find the woman you care for,” Mage answered. “She still has that pendant you gave her, and she’s only in Castun right now. And with my powers stirring the wind, we’ll be in Landmoor by dawn.”
XX
It must always be hot in Castun, Thealos decided. Nothing protected the hamlet from the scorching prairie winds of the lowland plains. Both the eastern and western edges of the land had rivers to draw in the mist and chill the air, but the Shadows Wood blocked all of that, leaving the northern borders of the forest to swelter in the heat.
“Only fools live in Castun,” Sturnin Goff muttered. “Neither side cares to fight over it.”
Thealos agreed with the assessment, though he wondered if the people were truly wise for living in a place that no one wanted. He frowned as they walked into the dusty streets. The only buildings that had survived were the ones made of stone and thatch. Sweat dampened his clothes and skin, and the dust clung to him like chalk. They were all weary from the hard walk, and from a distance the town seemed like a chance to escape the heat of the plains. But the refuge was only an illusion. Lopsided cabins hugged a central main square of tall taverns, trading posts, and a few smith-yards that looked as if they would sigh and collapse into dust. A line of splintered fences surrounded the hamlet and divided it. Smoke drifted from the thick chimney of the nearest forge, and the grunt of horses and mules broke the stillness. There were an uncommon number of graveyards, Thealos noticed – some fenced and sheltered, others open and overgrown.
“This is the only trading post this side of the Shadows Wood,” Sturnin said with a weary tone. “A way-station that brings Sol and Dos-Aralon to Landmoor. There’s only one road cut through the forest, called the Iron Point Road, and there are more thieves and Bandits than trees.”
Thealos nodded. With the Bandit Rebellion so powerful in the south, he wondered just how many still considered it safe to travel. He glanced over at the knight. “The town is small, Sturnin. Why so many graveyards?”
The knight shook his head and shrugged. “Some plague years ago. Blamed it on the Shae, I think. You’ll be fine as long as you keep with me.”
“The Shae were down here?”
“During the Purge Wars.”
“Never been to Castun,” Flent said, hooking his thumbs in his buckle. He walked between Thealos and Justin, keeping a watchful eye on both of them. The Warder Shae kept his head bowed and said nothing, but Flent had chattered enough for both of them. “Heard there wasn’t much to see here.” He snorted and spit on the ground. “Guess they were right. Hope they have some ale barrels, that’s all I have to say.”
Thealos glanced over his shoulder at the Drugaen. Flent seemed a little unsure of himself. He was probably missing Sol more than he cared to admit. “I thought the same thing when I first went to Sol. It’s a wreck of a city, Flent. Even Dos-Aralon has gardens and flowers.”
“Who cares about bloody gardens. I miss the ale! The best ale in the world comes from Sheven-Ingen, and it costs a fortune up north or out this way.” He sighed. “Sol may not be pretty on the outside, but the beaches! Loved walking those beaches.” The Drugaen sniffed and shrugged. “But if I was going to move, I’d go find a shack in one of the Shoreland cities farther south, or maybe an island. Windrift is nice enough, I’ve heard.”
“If you’re an outlaw,” Sturnin muttered under his breath.
“The Shoreland?” Thealos said with a wince. “Sun, rain, and mosquitoes. It’s awful. Why not move to Dos-Aralon? It’s expensive, but the wages are better. There are even a few Drugaen settlements up there. Those that don’t want any part of the war with the Krag.”
Flent shook his head in disgust. “Can’t stand Inlanders.” He glanced at the knight and his eyebrows rose apologetically. “No offense, Sturnin. No offense. Every kind of folk passin’ through Sol has stopped by the Foxtale once or twice. But it’s the sailors I like. They’ve got stories and things to sell. The ocean is always cool – none of this banned sun baking your brains.” He glared up at the sky. “I’m not always going to unload barrels and toss out troublesome folk. Gonna buy my own ship some day.” He chuckled. “Won’t that be a first! A Drugaen galleon.”
Thealos grinned. He searched the taverns and brothels for a sign of the Catpaw Inn. From the slanting porches of homes, he saw a few curious and some angry stares. “The Port of Jan Lee has a beautiful harbor. Puts Sol to shame.”
“Never been there,” Flent said with a sniff. “But I guess that’s because your people won’t let others in.”
Thealos shook his head. “They let some people in, but I’m sure the ale merchants find the business rather poor,” he added with a grin. “It’s beautiful to see, but you would probably die of thirst in there, Flent.”
They turned the corner and started down the main street to the south, toward the entrance of the Iron Point Road. A dog stared at them, its sad eyes bemoaning the heat, and its tail wagged sluggishly. It yawned and then dropped its head back down on the deck. They stopped to rest by a wooden post near a chandler shop, and Thealos wiped the sweat from his neck. He scanned the street and discovered a well-painted sign bearing the name of the inn they were searching for.
Crossing the street and shoving open the door, Thealos blinked, letting his eyes adjust to the shade. Thick stone walls kept the main parlor cool. The smells of baking bread and lamp oil greeted them. The common room was half-empty, filled by a few loggers and a solitary woodsman in the far corner of the room, sipping from a cup. The woodsman nodded to them and went back to his meal.
“Not bad…not bad at all,” Flent mumbled, nodding with appreciation. “Better than Roye’s place.”
“Get us a table, Flent,” Sturnin said. “I’ll talk to the innkeeper and ask about the girl.” He brushed the dust from his upper arms and approached the man behind the bar counter.
Thealos quickly caught the knight’s shoulder and stepped around him. “I can do that, Sturnin.”
The knight paused, giving him a steady look. But he backed off. “I wouldn’t try slipping out the back, lad,” he said quietly. “I mean to see the Sleepwalker here.”
“I hadn’t forgotten,” Thealos replied with an even tone. “But I doubt he would have left you a message, would he?”
The innkeeper was a gaunt man with friendly hazel eyes and a receding hairline that was well salted and wispy. He had crooked teeth but a warm smile. “You’re a long way from home, my friend,” he greeted with an easygoing grin. “If home is Avisahn.”
“Are you the owner?” Thealos asked, leaning against the counter.
He affirmed it with a nod. “My name is Talbin. You must be Thealos.” He kept his voice low. “Why don’t you join your friends and I’ll bring out some dinner for you. The girl you sent ahead has been fretting since she rode in.”
“She’s safe.” Thealos sighed with relief. “And Jaerod?”
“Ssshhh,” Talbin replied, wiping a mug clean with a towel. He glanced over Thealos’s shoulder and looked at the woodsman in the far corner. “He should be back tonight. I’ve got two men out looking for him.”
“Why?” Thealos said, concerned.
“Because that man over there is waiting around to kill him.”
* * *
The woodsman watched them with open interest. Thealos felt the man’s eyes probing their table. The Warder Shae sat like a recluse, withdrawn into silen
ce because no one but Thealos knew Silvan. He merely asked for a cup of hot water and proceeded to make an herbal tea. Flent bit into the greasy pork platter and trencher bread and washed both down with a huge mug of Spider Ale. Sturnin chewed at his meal, his eyes straying more than once to the woodsman so intent on them.
The woodsman’s hair and beard were pale brown with a few grizzled edges. What surprised Thealos was the man’s clothes and weapons. He was clearly an Inlander, like Sturnin, with long hair and sunburnt face and hands. But his long bow was distinctively Silvan, a strong yew bow. A sheaf of steel-tipped arrows hung from a quiver at his waist with the styled markings of Silvan fletchers. He also carried a tapered long sword with fine hilt work, possibly made by the Shae as well. His cloak was a mottled color of greens and browns. When he caught Thealos staring again, he nodded respectfully.
“Do you know who that is?” Sturnin Goff whispered to Thealos between bites.
“No,” Thealos answered. “Do you?”
The knight nodded and dabbed his bread in the thick gravy. “I’d bet a month’s pay he’s Allavin Devers, probably the best scout in the realm.” Sturnin nodded with confidence. “He’s loyal to the Duke of Owen Draw, but he lives with your people. Or so I’ve heard. Do you know the name?”
“No,” Thealos replied, risking another look. “He lives with the Shae? Where?”
“The Riven Wood,” the knight answered. “A small community. But he wanders up and down the Kingshadow, tracking the Bandits for us. I’m going to go have a talk with him.”
“Finish your dinner first,” Thealos said, stalling him. “He doesn’t look like he’s in much of a hurry to go.”
The knight’s eyes glinted with anger. “You’re a pushy lad, aren’t you? I’m not here at your command.”
“Or my invitation,” Thealos countered. His anger had flared too quickly, and he struggled to wrestle it back down. “I don’t seek a quarrel with you, Sturnin,” he said. “We came here for a reason. When Jaerod arrives, you’ll get to ask your questions. Now be patient with me a while longer.”
Over Flent’s shoulder, Thealos spied Ticastasy emerge from one of the rooms at the top of the stairs. She looked straight down the hall at them and smiled. She was wearing the gown he had given her. It fit her well, its violet trim matching the ribbon that held her hair back. The hem was long, covering the tops of her soft leather boots. Descending the stairs in a rush, she came up behind Flent and gave him a hug.
“Flent, you smell like a gutter!” she complained, wrinkling her nose and giving him a hard hug. “It’s good to see you.” She gave Flent a little shove, but aimed her smile at Thealos. “Thank you for the gown, my lord. It fits better than I hoped.”
Sturnin raised his eyebrows in between bites of food. Thealos hooked the chair leg next to him and pulled it out, offering her a place to sit. She slipped in it, planting her elbows on the table. Her hair was freshly washed and clean and her skin smelled of scented soap. She wore the tinkling jewelry she had in Sol, except this gown made her look even better.
“It actually fits a little snug, Quickfellow,” she said in low voice. “Are you sure you didn’t mean it for the Silverborne princess?”
Thealos chuckled at her banter. “I told you, it wouldn’t match Laisha’s coloring.” At the mention of her name, Thealos caught Justin’s surreptitious glance. “She wears green damask or blue silk and sapphires. It looks well on you, Stasy.”
“Thank you,” she replied, blushing. “Are you serious about her gowns? I’ve heard she has a hundred made each year.”
Thealos smiled and leaned back, folding his arms. “An exaggeration to be sure.”
“Really? Then is she as beautiful as they say?”
“Well… what do they say?” He couldn’t help feeling a little guilty talking to her so freely. He did know Laisha Silverborne and her taste for fine cloth – which was served by the Quickfellow family among others, of course – but suggesting a degree of intimacy was more than a little misleading.
“They say,” she replied with a saucy air, “that a man who catches sight of her will fall all sick in love and act like a fool until she’s gone.” She looked at him pointedly. “Did that happen to you?”
Thealos smiled. “If I remember right, she did make me forget my name. I was younger then, but does that count?”
“Now you’re boasting.”
He shook his head. “Boasting is clearly against the Rules of Forbiddance,” he replied. “I don’t want to give you the wrong impression, though. She likes her gowns well enough, but I wouldn’t say I’m an insider as to the variety of her apparel. In Avisahn every year there is a grand ball at the palace. I’ve danced with her and exchanged pleasantries…”
“You and how many others?”
He grinned. “Two hundred, I think. She’s a good dancer.”
“Well I can cut a good caper too, Quickfellow.” She leaned forward and rested her cheek on the flat of her hand. “You need a bath as bad as Flent does. Isn’t it Forbidden to be this filthy?”
“I imagine it’s written somewhere in the Rules,” Thealos agreed, stifling a chuckle. He saw Justin’s disapproving look and felt a stab of guilt. She seemed to notice him for the first time and raised her head. “Who’s this?”
“After you left, there were five more Krag, and they were holding a prisoner.” He nodded to the Shae Warder.
She looked at Justin. “And where are you from?”
“He doesn’t speak the king’s common,” Thealos answered. “Only Silvan and a little Drugaen.”
She nodded and looked more resigned. “I don’t think he likes me.”
“He doesn’t like humans in general. Don’t be offended.”
“You don’t seem to mind us.” She gave Thealos a direct look.
“Most of the Shae in Avisahn have never left its boundaries.” He brushed crumbs from the tabletop and gave her a sidelong look. “What they know about humans they’ve learned from the Council Elders. Many of your ways are Forbidden to us, and so they fear what they do not yet know.” He hesitated, not wanting to lie outright. “I’ve…known a few barters, you see. The ones who trade with Dos-Aralon and other nations. There are many humans I wouldn’t trust to hold a sterling coin for me. But there are others,” he nodded respectfully to her, “who I would trust.” He knew already that she thought him a Silvan lord. He didn’t want to ruin that image, to confess that he was only a barter’s son. He managed to keep it from his face, but the deception was starting to gnaw at him.
She took his compliment and tucked it away with a smile. “I like the Catpaw,” she said, staring up at the rafters. “They have baths upstairs, if can you believe it. You are certainly a wealthy man. Talbin said that Jaerod spared the best rooms for us.”
“Did you see him when you arrived?”
She shook her head. “No. But Talbin promised he would come back for us. I arrived this morning and must have missed him.” Her eyes fastened to his. “I was… worried about you.”
Thealos stared across the table at Flent who tore at his meal like a wolf. Sturnin also politely ignored her over the noise of his plate, but Justin’s eyes were wary and watchful.
“The human is coming,” the Shae Warder warned in Silvan as the woodsman approached their table.
Thealos turned in his chair.
“Now this is about the oddest scene I’ve come across in a long while,” the stranger said with a chuckle, planting his strong hands on the back of Thealos’ chair. “A sturdy fellow from Owen Draw, a Drugaen, a pretty lass who must be the king’s own sister, and two Shae. Greetings to you both, in your language.” He smiled as those who didn’t know the Shae speech raised their eyebrows curiously. “Odd company for Castun. Hope you don’t mind the intrusion. My name is Allavin Devers.”
“There’s an extra chair,” Flent said, nudging one open. “Flent Shago. Glad to meet you.”
Allavin nodded and sat down, his hand grazing the pommel of his sword. He had the low and confid
ent stride of a cat. An odd-looking scar ran alongside his nose, deforming it slightly. “Thank you. If you don’t mind, I will join you.”
“You speak our tongue,” Justin said with a hint of disdain.
“I do,” Allavin replied without rancor, in flawless Silvan. “And I live among your people as well.”
“And what brings you to Castun, Allavin Devers?” Thealos asked, directing the conversation away from Justin and deliberately changing the language. “You are a man of reputation I understand.”
“A small one, if any. I’ve spent some time in the Kingshadow, Iniva, Yukilep,” He replied with a shrug. “Or anywhere the Bandit armies go.” He nodded to the knight from Owen Draw. “This part of the country hasn’t seen many of your rank since the Accords of Dos-Aralon were struck after the Purge Wars. What brings you this far south, Sturnin?”
The knight chuckled. “You recognized me. I thought I knew you, Devers. You tracked for us several years ago. We even hung some Kiran Thall because of it.” He took a sip of ale from his mug and dipped the rim towards Thealos. “I’ve been following this Shae since Sol.”
Thealos was getting more and more uncomfortable. He tried to nudge the conversation off course again. “Are there really Shae left in the Riven Wood?” Thealos said. He wanted to stave off any reference that might make mention of the Sleepwalker.
Allavin leaned back and folded his arms. “Maybe two hundred, if that. The village in the Riven Wood used to supply provisions for the watchpost of Jove Stand in the Kingshadow. They haven’t had word from Avisahn in at least a hundred years. But my weapons are from Citadellian. That’s another watchpost in the Kingshadow – the southern end. You heard of it?” Thealos nodded. He hadn’t learned about them in Avisahn, but Jaerod had used a charred stick one evening to map them in the dirt. “No matter. A good group of Shae. All of them.” Thealos saw pain in his eyes, a rush of emotion that seemed to burn.