“I have no desire to know anything about you Falkyn – the idea makes me want to gag you for the rest of the journey. Now do us all a favour and belt up!”
Val did as he was told, although he noted that his exchange with Tobin had elicited the first response from Lady Cirinna all day. She gave Val a pitying look and smirked, before turning back to the fire.
That concluded any attempt at conversation for the evening. Despite the fire’s warmth and the pleasure of a fine meal, Val’s mood had soured. He was relieved when Ariana eventually appeared and led them to their rooms. The three travellers followed Ariana out of the common area and through a door into a long and narrow hallway.
They passed half a dozen doors to the left and right before Ariana halted.
“Your rooms are the last three on the left hand-side.”
Ariana opened the first of the three doors, revealing a small, comfortable room with rush-matting on the floor, packed mud walls, a narrow bed covered in a soft quilt and a small bedside table with a flickering oil lamp. A fire burned low in the hearth in the corner and there was a thick sheepskin on the floor next to the bed. The room looked warm and inviting, and Val was about to take it for himself when Captain Tobin shoved him aside and stepped through the threshold.
“You two take the rooms at the end,” he ordered before turning and fixing Val and Lady Cirinna in a gimlet stare. “We leave at day-break. When I knock on your door I expect to find you dressed and ready to depart.”
Then, he slammed the door in their faces.
Val ushered Lady Cirinna into the next room, bid Ariana goodnight and took the room at the end of the hallway. Even with the door closed, the noises from the rest of the inn reached Val. He could hear Lady Cirinna moving around next door, the rise and fall of voices from the common-area where the men were still carousing, and the strains of a fiddle as one of the patrons started to play a drinking song.
Val looked around his room and regretted he would only be spending one night here; this room was far more welcoming then his austere chamber in Tarrancrest Keep. He added another log to the fire and folded back the quilt on the bed. The lantern flickered next to his bed, sending long shadows across the mud walls. The window opposite his bed was shuttered tight and the sheepskin warmed his feet when he pulled off his boots. Val shivered as he undressed. It was a still night, but a cold one, and he expected to see the world silver with frost the next morning.
Val climbed into bed and sank into the mattress, staring up at the gnarled beams above his head and trying to make sense of the day. His body was exhausted but his mind was reeling.
For the first time, Val wondered if he disappeared tonight, ran off instead of carrying out this errand, what would happen. Would the realmlord bother to send men out after him? He toyed with the idea for only a moment before discarding it. Where would he go?
He carried his savings on him, sewn into the lining of the leather waist-coat he wore. It was enough to live on for a while but he would never be able to work as a librarian again – and he was not capable of doing anything else. Lord Kaur would blacklist him, ensuring he lived in the shadows for the rest of his life. He did not fancy sneaking out into the night either. Wolves, bandits and Sude soldiers lurked out there. Val knew he would not travel far before he came to grief. While he stayed with Tobin and Lady Cirinna there was a chance he might see his library again. If he ran away, he never would.
His body ached from a day in the saddle and tiredness weighed upon him, but Val found sleep slow arriving. He lay in the dark and listened to the night. Eventually, the sounds from the rest of the inn died down. Time stretched out and Val found himself wishing, once again, that he had brought at least one book with him. He could have lit his bedside lantern and read for a while until his mind was ready to rest.
***
The hour grew late and the last of the Red Tussock Inn’s clientele retired to bed, leaving the inn-keeper and his wife to finish cleaning up. A low fire burned in the hearth, keeping the chill off the air. The glowing remnants of the fire usually lasted the night. Upon rising, Ariana Wulf’s first chore was to rouse the embers so the inn’s guests woke up to a roaring fire.
Leaving his wife to dry the last of the plates, knives and mugs, Hendel Wulf went outside to feed his dogs. Stepping out into the yard, the night’s stillness struck Hendel – it was as if the world were holding its breath. A frost settled across the earth and a thick belt of stars twinkled in the night sky. A crescent moon cast a pale veil over the hills.
Hendel carried a lantern in one hand and a bucket of meat scraps and left-over food in the other.
“Ridge, Drago!” he called, “come here boys!”
Two large, bristled forms bounded towards their master out of the darkness. The dogs clamoured excitedly around Hendel’s legs while he made his way over to their earthen dishes and upended the food. The inn-keeper watched his dogs eat for a moment or two before turning to go back inside. He reached the door, paused for a moment, and glanced back over his shoulder into the darkness.
There was something about this night that put the inn-keeper on edge. Hendel could not place exactly what disquieted him, only that he did not trust the strange stillness. Brushing aside his unease, Hendel Wulf went back inside and bolted the door behind him.
Chapter Seven
On the Docks
Dunethport was just waking when the heavily laden cargo barge slid into the dock. The cumbersome craft sat low in the water like an old turtle, moving through the water at a slow but constant rate. The sun was rising over the edge of the ocean and Dunethport sat bathed in golden light. The sun thawed the frost and warmed the faces of the men who worked the docks.
Seth stood on deck and blew on his numb fingers. It had been a long night and Seth approached Dunethport with both trepidation and relief. Although he was pleased to reach his destination, he could not feel safe here. He cast his gaze about the busy docks, his mind already scrambling for a plan. He needed to find immediate passage on a trader or exploration vessel – anything to distance himself from his tracker.
The barge’s captain threw a heavy, oiled rope to a man waiting for them on the jetty and Seth heard the gentle thud of the side of the barge against the dock. The small vessel had wedged itself in between two huge boats that towered above the barge like tall buildings, casting a shadow across its deck.
Eager to get into the sun, Seth followed the captain onto the dock and pressed five bronze dracs into his palm, an exorbitant rate but one Seth had paid willingly.
“Where are you off to now?” the captain peered at Seth through a spider-web of wrinkles. His face reminded Seth of a walnut. Seth returned his gaze for a moment, debating whether the captain could help him or not.
“I seek passage on a ship travelling north,” he ventured. “Do you know of any?”
“North is a bit vague,” the captain replied. “Catedrâl, Barl?”
“Beyond.”
The captain’s eyes widened. “Nothwirren?”
Seth nodded.
The captain muttered something under his breath and swept his gaze down the crowded dock, where men humped heavy crates and sacks back and forth from warehouse to ship like a multitude of overburdened ants.
“It’s said the savages on that continent boil outlanders in big pots,” the captain’s muttering became clear, “and that the sun’s so harsh it can flay your skin off your bones at midday.”
Seth stifled a laugh.
“I am an explorer in service to the Realmlord of Omagen,” he lied smoothly. “He sends me on a mission to catalogue foreign lands.”
The captain stared at him. “Truly? What wonders have you seen? Where have you travelled?”
“To the great continent of ice to the south, where not a blade of grass grows and the world is permanently winter,” despite himself Seth was enjoying this, “and to Starne Island where flocks of great flightless birds roam virgin forest.”
“Amazing,” the captain gasped, “I
had heard of these things but had not believed them to be true.”
“So do you know of any ship that might bear me north?” Seth steered the conversation in the direction he desired and this time the captain obliged.
“Fortune is with you for the boat moored to our right bears Marl flags. I’d wager it is bound for Narn. From there you should be able to find passage across the Camberwash to Nothwirren.”
The captain raised a hand and waved to a tall figure dressed in salt-encrusted leathers that was climbing down a rope ladder, against the boat in question, to the docks.
“That’s the captain himself. Go on – try your luck.”
***
Seth stared moodily down at his empty tankard and contemplated getting himself another. It was much rougher than the ale he was used to at Osforth Tower but it had been numbing his senses nicely over the past few hours.
The ship flying the Marl flag would indeed depart for Narn – tomorrow at dawn. The captain was still awaiting a cargo of sheep, bred in the harsher climes of Central Omagen where the wool grew thick and soft, and brought high prices in Narn’s markets. He had no intention of leaving Dunethport until the last sheep was loaded and bedded down in the hold; and that meant tomorrow morning at the earliest.
Seth was not, by nature, a patient man but fear had exacerbated his impatience. He had toyed with the idea of bribing – not that he had the money to do so – or begging the captain but had reined himself in. Such behaviour would make him appear desperate. He did not want to loiter in Dunethport. Once the cloaked one discovered he had taken a barge from Seacliff, and to where that barge was headed, it would retrace its steps over Mount Caligar and make for the Dunethport’s docks to meet him.
The memory of last night’s encounter made Seth’s bowels turn to water. He had been visiting the tavern’s stinking privy far more often than he would have chosen over the last few hours – and now his guts were cramping again.
Glancing around the rough dockside bar, Seth was grateful for the crowds of sweaty dock-workers, merchants and sailors who packed out the narrow space. He was crushed in next to a couple of sailors who were locked into an escalating debate on the conflict between Sude and Farindell.
One of the sailors slammed his tankard down on the bar-top, sloshing ale everywhere.
“The same thing will happen here I tell you. Ragnost will say our boundaries encroach on what’s rightfully Sude’s!”
“Bollocks!” his drinking mate slurred. “Our territory’s nearly twice theirs. Ragnost wouldn’t dare. Farindell’s just a forgotten corner of Palâdnith. No one cares what happens to a bunch of inbred fishermen and farmers.”
“Thorne should do something,” the first sailor continued, completely ignoring his friend’s comment. “He’s a fool if he thinks Omagen’s safe from Sude’s warmongering. We’re next I tell you!”
“Listen to yourself!” the other sailor jeered. “You sound like a frightened old crone. I’m sure they’re in Omagen and Sude are in cahoots – Ragnost would never have had the balls to attack Farindell without Thorne’s support.”
“In cahoots?” the first sailor swayed on his feet as he thrust a finger in the other’s face. “There’s no love lost between Ragnost and Thorne, even a witless fool living in Dunethport’s slums knows that!”
The second sailor roared in response and shoved his friend, hard.
Seth edged along the bar in an effort to distance himself from them. The last thing he needed was to find himself in the midst of a tavern brawl. He intended to stay here, anonymous in the crowd, for as long as possible. He picked up his stool and wedged it against a pillar at the far end of the bar. From here, Seth had a view out of a grimy little window. The tavern was built right out on the waterfront and from this angle, he could see a pink sunset reflected off the still waters of the harbour.
Outside, the light was fading but Seth was determined not to sleep this night. His eyes burned with fatigue and the ale just made his tiredness worse. He would stay here till dawn and only allow himself to rest once they were on the open sea. Only then would the fog of terror that muddled his brain clear.
“Another ale!”
Seth slid his tankard down the slippery bar top to the man who ran the Crow’s Nest Inn. The inn-keeper took no notice of Seth until he slammed half a bronze drac down on the bar top. Then, without bothering to acknowledge Seth further, the inn-keeper poured the tankard full of frothy ale and slammed it down in front of Seth, mirroring his patron’s earlier gesture. He cast a jaundiced eye over Seth before turning towards to the next drunken idiot trying to attract his attention.
Seth leaned up against the pillar, buried his nose in froth and took a gulp of sweet, malty ale. The inn-keeper had been giving him suspicious looks for hours now. Seth knew he must seem shifty, constantly shooting nervous glances around the tavern, but the inn-keeper’s gaze tracked him as if he were up to no good. It was not the anonymity Seth sought.
Sipping his ale, Seth turned his attention from his immediate surroundings: the inn-keeper, the din of drunken voices and the rank odour of unwashed humanity with ale oozing from their pores, to the view out of the tiny window. The lurid sunset had almost gone. He could see Dunethport’s lights twinkling off the harbour.
Crushing self-pity overwhelmed him. Whatever lay ahead, he would have to face it alone, without Darin and Kal’s reassuring presence. It was not until yesterday that he had realised how much he depended on his friends. The three of them had spent many drunken evenings in Dunethport’s waterfront bars while the marshal bedded down amongst feather pillows with the best whore his money could buy. While Osforth ‘entertained’, his Tower guards revelled in their rare freedom. If one picked a fight, there were always two others on hand to lend a hand. Without Darin and Kal, Seth felt naked.
Seth was so immersed in his thoughts that he did not notice the caped figure that wove its way through the crowd of revellers towards him. The figure moved at an unhurried pace. It was only when a shadow fell over him that Seth looked up. At first, his gaze seized upon a cloaked silhouette, and his heart leapt in his chest. A moment later, he realised that the figure was a woman dressed in blue robes. She pushed back her hood so Seth could see her face.
It was the Sister of Sial from two nights earlier. Unlike their first encounter, there was no flirtation in the woman’s gaze this evening.
“You! What do you want?”
The Sister gestured to an unoccupied stool next to Seth.
“May I?”
Seth grunted in response and turned back to his tankard.
Not put off by his unenthusiastic greeting, the Sister took a seat and ordered herself a tankard of ale. If the sight of an unchaperoned, attractive woman with thick brown hair and twinkling blue eyes, interested the other patrons; her voluminous blue robes and silver-star necklace made them keep their distance. Some women were not worth the trouble.
“You look like a man tired of his own company,” the witch observed. She took a sip of ale and fixed Seth with a level gaze. “You didn’t wear a scowl like that at our last meeting.”
Seth took a deep draught of ale and choked as it went up his nose. When he recovered, he looked at the Sister and saw that she was watching him intently.
“Let’s just say that since our last meeting, certain events have transpired,” he replied.
The Sister raised her eyebrows.
“That sounds cryptic, do tell?”
“You wouldn’t believe me,” Seth sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “It even sounds ludicrous to my own ears.”
“Let me be the judge of that – I’m Nevis of Foresthill by the way,” she held out a hand for him to shake, “and you are?”
“Seth Falkyn,” Seth reluctantly shook her hand – although the sensation was pleasant; her skin was smooth and cool and up-close she smelt faintly of roses.
Seth told Nevis, in as few words as possible, the events of the past two days. Told plainly, it seemed even stranger. When Seth had f
inished, the Sister sat silently for a few moments, digesting his words. Then she cast her gaze over him, assessing and questioning.
“Sentorân,” her voice was thoughtful, “so you did need protecting… It appears your mother was right to give you that charm.”
“It didn’t offer me much protection last night,” Seth gave her a sour look, “not much good is it!”
“Could be that it no longer gives you protection. If you have worn it since childhood it may have served its purpose,” the Sister replied.
Seth massaged his temples; this conversation was giving him another headache.
“What would it have been protecting me from?” he asked eventually.
“The likes of those two, for one thing,” Nevis answered, her voice dropping to a hush. “You should take better note of your surroundings Seth. You’re being watched.”
Seth froze.
“Where?”
“Across the room – to the left.”
Seth surreptitiously cast his gaze across the crowded tavern, to where two robed figures leaned against the far wall – a man and a woman. The male had long, pale blond hair and the arresting good looks and high cheekbones of a native of Starne Island, which lay far to the south. His eyes were chips of ice, and they gleamed with unnerving intelligence. The female had a cool emerald gaze, flawless white skin, queenly bone-structure and a mane of auburn hair.
Seth had seen them before – they were the two Esquill who had flanked Realmlord Thorne during Osforth’s visit to Larnoth Castle. With everything that had happened over the past day, Seth had almost forgotten the way the two sorcerers had stared at him, especially the woman.
“They’ve been watching you for a while,” Nevis continued. “You seem to recognise them. Have you had dealings with the Esquill before?”
Seth tore his gaze from the sorcerers and stared down at his ale. Suddenly, his mind was wheeling and he felt unwell. He had told the Sister too much, and with the Esquill watching him from the shadows, he felt like a cornered rabbit.
Journey of Shadows (The Palâdnith Chronicles Book 1) Page 10