by C A Kinnee
When he’d first spotted her in the shadows, he’d thought the First had sent help. Her dark hair was a breath of home amongst the cool blonde inhabitants of the walled town. While her wild black curls and high cheekbones were common amongst the forest people, her eyes were what captured his attention—dark and smoky beneath impossibly long lashes.
A second glance and it was clear she belonged. He gathered frowns like a sap-covered rock rolling through feathers, while she passed through the crowd as if invisible. He scowled. It opened up a bigger path than the one his elbows had mown.
“Watch out,” a bearded wagon master called, scowling at him.
“Stay you,” another challenged, stepping into his path.
“Leave the lad alone.” A tall, thin soldier with cold blue eyes nudged the shoulder of the speaker. “He be a farlander. You can’t expect manners from such as him.”
“Sorry,” Kieran answered. He made a low bow in apology, taking care to keep his hands visible.
The man gave him a hard look and turned away. Kieran moved forward more carefully. He had to get his mind off the girl. It interfered with his quest for the egg, besides, if he kept riling the townspeople, he would find himself with a new set of problems. But he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
“Think about her later,” he muttered through clenched teeth.
A passing matron stopped and looked suspiciously at him. She clamped her fingers onto her husband’s arm. Kieran passed by, oblivious to the glares that followed him.
Concentrate on the egg. Eventually Metreo would appear, if not at this inn, another. Kieran would keep looking, even if it took all night. His spirits dropped lower. He thought his biggest problem would be gaining entrance to the town. Nothing had prepared him for the task of finding two men amongst so many. What would happen if he didn’t find the egg? No, he couldn’t think that way. He would find it. There could be no other outcome.
He looked back towards the corner table. The innkeeper hovered over the old man, showering him with apologies. Something about the midnight-garbed man made the hairs on the back of Kieran’s neck rise like porcupine quills. Who was he? What was his interest in the girl? Kieran muttered another curse and gave in to the temptation to return to the table in the corner. He stopped just out of sight and eavesdropped on the innkeeper’s words.
“It was a lad who pushed me, a farlander. I do not drop trays. I wait a good table,” the barmaid repeated loudly for anyone who would listen.
“Betra par Avonne cease your yowling. Pick up the breakage and get back to work.” Baylon’s harsh tone set the girl to gathering the broken bits into her stained apron. Satisfied she had returned to work, the innkeeper turned back to his ale-soaked guest.
A steady trickle of ale dripped from the edge of the man’s hood. A shard of pottery rested on his left shoulder. No one laughed. The man was as still and cold as the darkness outside, oblivious to the apologies of the landlord and the snuffles of the barmaid. His amber eyes burned with an intensity that stopped Baylon’s tongue. As Kieran watched, the burly innkeeper’s fingers fluttered in a sign of protection.
Kieran frowned. There was something familiar about the old man, but whatever it was floated tantalizingly out of reach. If only Orlan were here. He would figure it out. Orlan had the uncanny ability to see into people’s hearts. Kieran closed his eyes and reached for the twin link—emptiness greeted him. He was on his own.
Grimly he moved back into the crowd. This mystery had nothing to do with him or the egg. He needed to find Metreo. Where he was, the egg would be. The dark man was not his problem. He had no time to waste thinking of gray-eyed girls. Later he could try to puzzle out who she was.
Still . . . doubt set his jaw in a hard line. He retraced his steps. Something was wrong, and as usual he couldn’t move on until he figured out what it was. He rubbed the stubble covering his chin and stared blankly at the crackling flames in the massive fireplace. He’d pushed the barmaid with the overfilled tray on impulse. Was it for the sake of big gray eyes, or something else?
“The facts, Kieran. Examine the facts.” That’s what the First would say. “Break it down. The answer will come to you.”
All right. Kieran closed his eyes and imagined the crowded room. The drunken man had tried to pick a fight as he crossed the room in search of Metreo. The man had reeled across his path and then cursed him as a farlander, shoving him into the wall. Kieran had almost reached for his knife when he saw the girl. The drunk had moved on, and the man in the black cloak had appeared.
That was the start of it. The man’s arrival brought the cold stroke of magic—the sense of evil reaching out to him—no, not him, someone else—the girl. A chill crept up his spine. The magic—that was it—the magic surrounding the girl had the same feel of oily enchantment that had brushed the wards in the forest. Its effects on the girl left her still and lifeless, like one of the great statues shown in the old books.
A buzzing whisper rippled the length of the room. Kieran looked up from the fire, craning his neck to see past the heads and shoulders blocking his view. There. Relief left him dizzy. Metreo stood in the open doorway. He kicked the heavy door shut and took a moment to tuck his leather gloves into the thick belt at his waist. He cast a contemptuous glance over the room, then sauntered across the warped wooden floor. People moved away from him like mice running from a cat. Metreo ignored their hasty signs of protection. He looked as stony as the mountain he resembled.
In the dim light of the crowded taproom, flickering torches made shadows of the piercings lining his ears, elongating the black and white halves of his face. His black eyes roamed the room offering an unspoken challenge. No one stepped forward to take it up.
Kieran slid sideways, mixing with the revelers, searching for signs of Rahdon. Where Metreo was, he couldn’t be far behind. The pretty man was like tree blight in the way he clung to the giant. Maybe this wouldn’t turn out as badly as he had thought. Maybe he could use the blonde man to find the egg. The man was a fool. Kieran was more than a match for him.
He looked back at Metreo but he was gone. No, not gone. He shook his head in disgust. The thought of magic had scrambled his brain. The ragged line of townspeople dancing a jig over the packed floor had hidden him behind a wall of bodies.
A high-pitched flute joined the screeching of the fiddle. Kieran took a deep breath and tried to clear the drone from his mind. He had to concentrate. He didn’t share Orlan’s gift of magic, but he had a talent for finding and tracking. That finder’s gift would be what recovered the egg. All he had to do was center his thoughts on the missing object. He closed his eyes and focused on the shape of the egg. The girl’s face floated in his head. He blinked and rolled his eyes. It would be easier to find the egg if he had seen it before the mercenaries stole it. He didn’t know if it looked like the giant egg of a chicken or that of a tough leathery medino lizard.
The dancers parted. Rahdon stood at the long bar speaking to a curvy barmaid. He turned a gold coin carelessly between his slim white fingers.
Kieran grinned in delight. Maybe his finder’s gift was working. He just needed to focus on something he could recognize. He crossed the room, hoping to get near enough to Rahdon to hear his words. When he reached the crowded bar, he propped himself against the heavy oak counter and accepted a brimming mug of ale. He proffered up the last of his coins and tilting his head beneath his hood, concentrated on the voice of the man standing a few feet from him.
“I would dance with you and buy you pretty things,” Rahdon murmured to the barmaid. The look in his pale blue eyes was at odds with the sweetness of his voice. “I would teach you the music of my heart.”
“Oh, you be telling me stories. Tell me again why you be here,” the barmaid demanded, leaning in and twisting a long blonde curl around her finger.
Kieran leaned in too, trying to hear more of the conversation.
“A quest, my beauty. Would you be my princess? Shall we find riches together, slay dragons?”
Rahdon coaxed.
Kieran shuffled a step closer. Rahdon looked up. Kieran buried his face in his mug and took a gulp of the bitter ale. He choked and hid his face trying to cough the brew from his lungs. Rahdon looked away, interested only in the girl before him.
“Dragons! You make fun of me.”
She pouted. Her plump lips looked like fat worms after the rains.
“My master is a powerful mage. Those who follow him know his generosity,” Rahdon said. His words were a mix of mockery and beguilement. The girl hung on every one.
“I could go with you,” she said breathlessly. “I’d have to tell—”
“Rahdon!”
What she was about to say was lost in the gravelly roar from across the common room.
Reluctantly, Rahdon straightened from his leaning position. He tucked the coin into the low bodice of the barmaid’s gown.
“You think on it, sweetheart. For now, I will bid you farewell.” He kissed her hand and cast a regretful look at the coin as he backed away.
Kieran’s lip curled in disgust watching the blonde man step away from the bar. A wave of dancers surged past and Rahdon vanished. Kieran circled through the crowd hunting for him. He stumbled to a stop. Rahdon had reached Metreo, but Metreo was no longer alone. The man in the black cloak had settled into a chair at the table.
Kieran had to get closer. He had to take the risk Metreo might see him. Why were the mercenaries meeting with the dark man? Goose bumps crawled up his arms. Rahdon had called his lord a wizard of the dark arts. Was he the man in the black cloak?
The dancers bobbed by again. The dance didn’t look as if you needed skill or rhythm to join, only a partner. He grabbed the arm of a stocky woman standing at the edge of the crowd and tried to whirl her into the dance.
“Stop! What are you doing? Release me!” she shrieked. Her shrill voice rose above the sound of the screeching fiddle.
Her eyes bulging in her jowly face, she tore off her bonnet. Using its long ties like a whip, she lashed at Kieran. The strings flayed past his nose. Kieran dropped her arm and tried to back away, but she followed, swatting and squawking, entangling him deeper in the line of dancers. The music faltered to a stop. The dancers halted. The loud voices stilled as the inn’s patrons craned their necks to watch the entertainment.
Kieran’s cheeks burned. His arm ached from the punch of one of her meaty fists His shin throbbed where she’d landed a particularly hard kick with her muddy clog. Mumbling apologies, he tried to slink away. Had Metreo seen him? No, the black and white face was deep in conversation with the man seated next to him. A hand grasped his and tugged him free of the riot developing on the dance floor.
He followed his savior to the smoky confines of the kitchen, barely managing to duck out of the way of the maid he had pushed. She glared at him. Her red-rimmed eyes promised she would seek retribution as soon as she rid herself of her full tray.
Kieran flattened himself against the wall as another barmaid shoved past carrying a heavy load of mugs. Straw-colored ale splashed from a brimming cup and splattered the front of his cloak. He edged away from the wall and ducked by a prune-faced woman holding a wooden spoon. She flourished her spoon in threat.
“Move. You can’t stand there, you’re in the way.” The voice of the girl from the shadows was sharp with impatience.
Kieran shuffled his feet, feeling like a child underfoot. Two of the cook’s assistants stared at him. They giggled. He frowned at the girl he had seen earlier. She swept her hood up over her dark hair.
“I owed you. Without your clumsy accident, I would have stayed at that table,” she said. Her full lips curled in amusement. “Only a fool would dance with Mistress par Raymond.”
“Meara!” A pregnant woman shot her a look of reproof.
The girl shrugged her thin shoulders but looked unrepentant.
“Just so, farlander, if you are so lonely for company perhaps you should look for a pet. At least—”
“Enough!” Who was she to poke fun at him?
She rolled her eyes and turned her back on him.
“Good night, Shay Lann. Thank you.” She bowed and pulled the door open.
“Where is he? Shay Lann!”
The roar made Kieran jump.
The barmaid hadn’t wasted time dropping off her tray before finding the innkeeper. Baylon charged into the room bellowing threats. Bravery was knowing when to run. Kieran bolted, trying to close his ears to the laughter that followed him through the door.
Outside the rain pelted sideways. He pulled his hood closer. Ahead of him, the girl rounded a corner and melted into the darkness. He would follow her. The old man’s interest linked her to the puzzle. He would stick with her until he figured out what part she played.
He quickened his pace. At the sound of his footsteps, she spun around. The pale oval shape of her face floated in the dim light.
“Why are you following me?” she demanded.
“Why not?” Kieran caught up to her. “What are you hiding?”
The girl moved fast, lunging towards him, her arms outstretched. Her hands caught his chest in a hard shove. Kieran staggered, almost falling. The girl didn’t wait to see what happened. In a flurry of dark cape and long black hair, she was gone.
Kieran kicked his legs free of the tangled weight of his cloak and followed. His longer strides ate up the distance. He turned the corner but she was gone, vanished. He stopped. The sound of the heavy rain filled his ears. The mouth of an alley yawned in front of him—a black pit hiding any hint of its contents.
Crouched low to the ground, he waited, listening, hoping she would make some sound to give away her position. She couldn’t have gone far. The patience learned from a hundred hunts led him to her muffled breathing. Carefully, he took a sliding step forward. Silence. Another step. A clod of mud exploded across his chest splattering slime in his face. Swiping away the mud, he plunged towards her. He almost had her. He jumped, tackling her, yanking hard on the edge of her cloak, pulling her down. She landed under him, flipped, and threw him back into the muck. He grabbed for her cloak and jerked her back. She wallowed beside him.
“Stop!” he gasped, trying to suck air into his lungs. “I won’t hurt you. Don’t be afraid.”
“Afraid!” she spat. “Of you? You flatter yourself.” She rolled to a sitting position and swiped the mud from her face. It left a brown smear across her cheekbone. “Quit following me.” She gathered her cloak closer.
“What’s that?” Kieran’s eyes locked on the object uncovered by their struggle. It chirped and began to glow. He didn’t really need to ask. He could recognize the Harmony egg even if he had never seen it.
“Where did you get that?” he demanded.
“It’s mine.” She hugged it tightly and rocked it in her arms. The egg purred and clicked.
“It’s not. You have to return it,” Kieran said.
“I found it. It’s mine.” Her voice hardened.
“You don’t understand.” Desperation gave his voice an edge. “If you don’t return it, we’ll all die.”
“What are you talking about? You’re crazed,” the girl said.
“Do you even know what that is?” he asked.
Now he had her attention. She clutched the egg tighter sheltering it against her body.
“Give it to me. I’ll take it back where it belongs,” Kieran said.
The girl’s fingers whitened against the gold and blue of the egg. She pulled away from him.
“It belongs with me. It won’t go with you.” She tossed her hair back from her eyes as she spoke.
Kieran’s heart sank. It wouldn’t go with him? No, that couldn’t be true. The egg wouldn’t bond with her. The egg was part of the prophecy. The egg shall be born of the dragon and form a bridge with the people. The ceremonies had taken place, the brother of the egg chosen. Allego was one of the most promising of the young wizards. He awaited its hatching. Kieran’s spirits lifted. That was it. The egg could not bond with anyone u
ntil it hatched.
“Give it to me!” He snatched for it.
The egg screamed a high-pitched wail. The noise exploded in Kieran’s ears at the same time the girl punched him. Kieran folded over, gasping like a landed fish.
The girl gasped too, clutching her hand and grimacing in pain. Colors swirled through the alley—flickering flames of orange and yellow that climbed the walls around them. The girl sank to the muddy ground cradling the egg. Stroking the glowing shell, she muttered softly.
Kieran stared in wonder. The egg quieted. The shrill cries stopped as suddenly as they had begun. Bonded! If the egg was linked to the girl, Kieran’s world was doomed.
Chapter 8
Danger—be wary.
Wait—watch!
In the darkness
pay heed.
Translated from the Chronicles of the Egg
Meara stroked the surface of the globe. It’s okay, I am here. She didn’t need to speak—the words flowed through her fingertips. Already the shell was cooling, the searing heat of the moment before only a memory as the surface became warm and pliant like heated metal.
The ear-splitting shrieks died away and a faint sheen of orange glowed from the shell. The globe clicked softly, telling her something. She concentrated on that, trying not to look at the man hunched in front of her.
It was a struggle not to stare openly at him. His black hair had straggled loose from its tie and lay tangled in front of his eyes. Black hair! She had never seen anyone with hair like her own—not even at the Inn of the Waking Rooster where all the farlanders stayed. She watched him through a screen of lashes. Who was he? Were there others like him? The thought made the breath catch in her throat. She wanted to ask, but pride kept her quiet. If she asked, it would be admitting she hungered to find others like herself. She was better alone.
He was still trying to catch his breath and his eyes were tightly closed. His gray eyes, she thought. He muttered something and she leaned closer, but it was too faint to hear. Was he dark-touched? Only those born under unlucky signs talked to themselves.