Anwen of Primewood

by Shari L. Tapscott

  I tuck the potatoes in Mara’s saddlebag, and then we leave the square. We ride to the inn and tavern. Pika waits just outside of town, but Danver follows us. Several patrons raise their eyebrows at the fox. Galinor enters behind me, and any that were about to protest the animal’s presence turn back to their drinks, minding their own business.

  I let Galinor lead me to a table. I roll my shoulders and stretch my neck before I sink into the chair. I ache from riding in the chilled air. It would be nice if the weather would warm just a little. It’s still early for it to be this cold.

  “I’m going to secure us rooms and get dinner,” Galinor says.

  I rest my head on the scarred wood table and mumble an acknowledgment. As he leaves, I keep my head turned away from him. There’s no reason to watch the exchange between Galinor and the barmaid. I’m not in the mood to see the woman fawn all over him.

  Not gone long, he nudges me to sit up and places a plate in front of me. “You look exhausted.”

  I’ve had nightmares since witnessing Father’s change. Every night it’s the same; I’m trapped in the room, watching the monster break free from my father’s skin. Because that’s what it was like—not my father changing into a gargoyle, but rather the gargoyle ripping out from inside Father.

  “It’s the cold,” I lie.

  He doesn’t believe me. He pushes the plate toward me again, and this time I pluck up a chicken drumstick and nibble on it to appease him. I sneak the meat to Danver when he’s not looking.

  “The day after tomorrow we’ll ride into Errinton,” Galinor says. He dives into his food with an enthusiasm only a man could have. How can he eat when my own stomach is in knots?

  I look back at my own plate, set the drumstick aside, and halfheartedly pull the crust from a thick slice of brown bread. “What about the pansley?”

  He takes a drink of cider before answering, “We’ll stay on the western side of the kingdom so we may return to Primewood through Coppel. We’ll try again then.”

  I shake my head. “It’s already so late. If we leave now, we’ll ruin our chance of finding any until next summer.”

  We can’t wait that long. With as frail as he is, I’m not sure Father will survive the curse more than a few more months. The magic is killing him.

  Galinor sets his hand on mine. “We’ll find it.”

  “You’re in good spirits,” I say, lowering my gaze. Setting the bread aside, I pick up another drumstick. I pull the skin from the chicken and pluck at the meat.

  He brushes his finger down my cheek. “You’re not giving up, are you?”

  Despite my sour mood, my cheek tingles from his touch.

  “No, I’d just hoped it would be…” I shrug.

  He smiles. “Easier?”

  I sigh and nod.

  “These lists—” He points to my pouch where I’ve tucked the parchment. “Are never easy. But I’ve learned they’re not meant to be. If you want something badly enough, you have to prove it.”

  “I’m not sure I have enough left,” I admit.

  I’m afraid I now look just as melancholy as Galinor did when we first met.

  He sets his arm across my shoulders, pulling me against his side. “We can do this.”

  I tilt my face and look up at him. “I’m not sure I can.”

  He smiles down at me. “I’ll carry us both if I have to.”

  ***

  We leave the inn early, before the frost melts from the ground. Despite the cold, I’m in better spirits today. I still had nightmares, but they came early and left me to sleep in peace the rest of the night.

  The weather remains sunny, even if the temperatures continue to drop. We’ll stay one more night in Coppel, and then we’ll be in Errinton the next evening.

  “Will your family care that you’ve left them for so long?” I ask as we ride side by side down the empty trade road.

  “Irving was to tell them not to worry.”

  Apparently Galinor expected to be detained. Or perhaps he hoped to be?

  Though not quiet, we’re watchful. We haven’t seen a soul today. Very few people venture into Errinton, and any that leave don’t want you to see them until they ambush you.

  “There’s a man ahead,” Galinor warns, his voice low. “I’m sure it’s fine, but be on guard.”

  I tense. I remember what he’s taught me, but to actually use it on someone? I don’t know if I can. Even though Galinor is with me, I still feel vulnerable.

  The man is alone. He rides to us and raises a friendly hand in greeting. Galinor returns the gesture in same, his unease forgotten.

  “What brings you this way, friends?” the man asks.

  He’s not dressed as a peasant, but he doesn’t look like a nobleman either. He’s most likely a physician or successful craftsman.

  “We are on our way to Errinton,” Galinor answers.

  The man nods sagely. “I am from there, myself. Hard times in our kingdom.”

  “We have heard,” Galinor says.

  “The roads into Errinton are especially treacherous. Be wary.”

  He begins to pass and then pauses, a worried expression on his face. “Do you have family or friends to stay with?”

  “We do not,” Galinor admits.

  “I recommend an inn in Gelminshard, the first town on this road once you’ve passed into Errinton.”

  Galinor nods, waiting for the man to continue.

  “The Dragon’s Claw. It’s the second inn you’ll come to. Make sure you pass the first. Tell them Peter sent you.”

  “We appreciate your help,” Galinor says.

  The men exchange their final goodbyes, and we continue on.

  “Hopefully it won’t take long to hunt the iktar beast,” I say, casting a glance over my shoulder after the man has long since passed. “I don’t want to linger in Errinton any longer than necessary.”

  ***

  The last village in Coppel is barely large enough to call a village at all. A home no bigger than a farmhouse doubles as the tavern and inn, and it’s here we find ourselves on the last night before we venture into Errinton.

  The man and woman running the tavern are kind. We eat with them, joining their family for the nightly meal.

  Gwen, our hostess, sets a pork roast on the table. “We don’t see many from Glendon around here.”

  The family’s three small boys squirm in their seats, eager to eat. Only the eldest, a boy in his late teens, waits patiently. He frowns at the young ones.

  “Galinor is from Glendon,” I say. “I am from Primewood.”

  Gwen’s gaze moves between us. “You are not married?”

  Galinor glances at me then frowns. “We are not, but I am responsible for her well-being.”

  The eldest boy meets my eye and gives me a small, crooked smile. Galinor notices and gives him an intimidating look, and I bite back a grin behind my cup.

  “Take care while you travel,” says Gwen’s husband, Helmar. “It is dangerous for unmarried women in Errinton.”

  Gwen lets out a sharp laugh. “It is dangerous to be a woman in Errinton, whether married or unmarried.”

  Helmar agrees and begins to carve the roast.

  I thank them for my portion. “What is it you’ve used on the pork?” I ask after I take a bite. “It is very good, but I don’t think I’ve ever had it.”

  Gwen looks up from her plate and smiles. “Do you like it?” She sees Galinor has almost finished his plate, and she serves him two more large slices. “It’s just some salt and a pinch or two of pansley.”

  I start when I hear the herb, and Galinor also looks at our hostess in surprise.

  “Pansley!” I say. “We’ve been looking for it. Do you have any fresh? We would pay you.”

  Gwen gives me a baffled look. “You’ve been looking for pansley?”

  I nod.

  “I have some hanging, but I don’t have any fresh. It’s the wrong time of year for it.”

  I sink back into my chair. “That’s al
l right. Thank you, all the same.”

  Dinner continues. I try to avoid the glances of Gwen and Helmar’s eldest; Galinor glares at the boy frequently, and Helmar asks us personal questions we don’t want to answer. I welcome the moment I can escape to my room.

  Galinor hovers by my door.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask him.

  “You’ll be all right?”

  The family is downstairs, but I don’t doubt they are straining to hear our words. I step closer and whisper, “We’re still in Coppel, Galinor. I’m fine here for the night.”

  He nods. “I know, I’m just on edge from being this close to the border. I wish Marigold would have traveled with us. Then you wouldn’t be alone.”

  “I’ll be all right.”

  He crosses his arms. “I heard your cries last night.”

  I look at the floor. “They’re only nightmares.”

  “I don’t remember you having them before.” He sets his hands on my shoulders. “We’re going to help your father. I promise.”

  “I know.”

  “If you need me, I’m only in the next room.”

  He looks so serious, I laugh. “For a nightmare? Galinor, I’m fine.”

  He finally smiles. “All right.”

  I expect him to release my shoulders, but instead he brushes his thumb against my neck. A lung-full of air catches in my throat, and I freeze. I’m mesmerized by the sensation, by his eyes, by the closeness brought on by our mission.

  We still haven’t spoken of feelings. We’ve danced around it, but on that particular subject, we’ve stayed silent. Surely if I feel like this, he must feel something.

  My heart races, making me light-headed, and I can barely breathe. Only when I feel his breath on my face do I think to close my eyes. I tilt my head, waiting.

  He presses the softest kiss to my forehead, and my eyes fly open.

  His lips curve in a very attractive smirk. “Goodnight, Anwen.”

  I blink at him, speechless.

  He opens my door and motions me in, his blue eyes bright. “Sleep well.”

  To hold back a smile, I bite the inside of my cheek. I brush past him, trailing my hand over his chest as I step away. Once safely on the other side, I lean against the door and grin like an idiot.

  Once I catch my breath, and my heart slows to a normal pace, I crawl into the quilt-covered bed. The room is cozy and warm, but I have trouble getting comfortable. Galinor’s face is in my mind when I finally do find sleep.

  Then the nightmares come.

  I wake with a headache and bleary, heavy eyes. It’s so quiet. I peek out a closed shutter. To my horror, snow blankets the ground. I close the shutters and rest my forehead against them. Finally, I pull on a gown with a woolen skirt and bodice. I had been saving it for Errinton, but it seems I’ll need it sooner than I had hoped.

  Once dressed, I braid my hair and tiptoe into the hall. Galinor’s door is still closed. He rarely sleeps late, and I don’t want to wake him. I make my way down the farmhouse stairs.

  The kitchen smells lovely, and Gwen gives me a warm smile when I enter. “Galinor is helping Helmar and the boys attend the cattle this morning. I hope you don’t mind. The snow took us by surprise.”

  Apparently he didn’t sleep late. What would the family think if they knew a prince of Glendon was herding their cows?

  Gwen sets a bowl of porridge in front of me. Unlike the goop we made Ergmin, this actually looks edible. I eat while Gwen tells me about their farm, their boys, and the tiny village we’re in.

  Sometime later, the door swings open, and the men stomp in, red faced and laughing. Galinor knocks the snow from his boots at the door and sits in the chair next to me. “Good morning.”

  With his blue eyes bright and his cheeks pink from the cold, he sets his frigid hands on my neck. I squeal and swat him away.

  He laughs at my reaction and runs a hand through his dark, snow-dampened hair. Obviously in a good mood despite the snow, he lays an arm around my shoulder, squeezing me to him.

  “It’s cold out there,” Helmar says.

  “Are you sure you want to leave?” Gwen asks us. “You’re more than welcome to stay here until the storm blows over.”

  One more day we stay is one more day Father has to endure the change.

  I shake my head even though I’m not looking forward to riding in this weather. “We can’t.”

  Galinor agrees we must leave despite the snow, and I sip my tea as he finishes his porridge. Once he’s done, I don my heavy fur-lined cloak. We thank Gwen for the meal and then traipse through the snow to ready the horses. The skies are still heavy with clouds, but the snow has slowed to tiny, sporadic flakes.

  I stare at the white, rocky landscape to the north. I’m not eager to start on the road that will lead us to the most hostile of Elden’s kingdoms.

  I scoop Danver up and wrap him in my cloak. Again, I ask, “What do you think an iktar beast is?”

  Galinor secures his pack to his horse. “I have no idea.”

  I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Penrith of Bourke

  As the days grow colder, they are also shorter. By the time we cross into Errinton, it is mid-afternoon and the sun is already making its descent. In a few more hours, it will be dusk. The mountains rise around us in jagged ice-capped peaks, but the snow that blanketed the ground this morning has melted in the meager sunshine that broke free of the clouds early this afternoon.

  Now the roads are mucky and rutted from wagon wheels. Gray patches of snow linger in shadows under trees and behind rocks and crags. On one side of the road, a sheer cliff rises. Only a few persistent evergreens cling to rocky shelves. There are caves in the rock face that most likely shelter bats. The thought makes me tense. Surely, like rodents, they are asleep for the season.

  “You look uneasy,” Galinor says.

  “I am a little.”

  It’s not bats that truly make me nervous. Though the flying vermin would be unpleasant to encounter, they aren’t nearly as bad as dragons. We’re in their land now.

  We’ve passed no one on the road the entire day, and the emptiness is eerie.

  “How far to Gelminshard, do you think?” I ask.

  Galinor carries a map with him, but he doesn’t consult it, having already studied it at length. “An hour—maybe more, maybe less. It depends on the road ahead.”

  I chew my lip, waiting for trouble.

  Pika seems nervous as well, though I don’t know if it’s because she senses something, or if it’s all the new smells. She walks beside us, her tail snapping back and forth. Danver darts between rocks, never straying too far from Pika.

  A large plain stretches to our right. In any other kingdom, this land would be farmed, but here, it is littered with rocks and the occasional boulder. Patches of dry, brown tundra grass blow in the wind. They are the only sign of life. It’s possible wildflowers grow here in summer, but now it’s desolate. In the distance, a small herd of shaggy cattle graze. What they could have found to eat, I do not know.

  We ride on, never seeing a soul. Soon, nestled in a valley ahead, a village appears in the distance.

  “It’s not what I expected,” I say.

  Gilded rooftops gleam in the evening sunshine like beacons. A castle rises from the rear of the town, an impressive fortress in gray stone. The gates to the village are flanked with two huge, life-size dragon statues. Even from this distance it is impressive.

  I give Galinor a questioning look.

  He shrugs. “Only a decade ago, Errinton was the wealthiest of Elden’s kingdoms.”

  “How sad,” I whisper. I turn to Pika. “Go on now.” I motion to the rocks and trees.

  We’re well away from any people. She should be safe here. I don’t dare take her into Gelminshard—not into a village of dragon slayers.

  Once Pika and Danver are hidden from sight, Galinor and I ride into the village. Sharp-eyed guards watch us enter, but they do
not ask our business. As we ride through the gates, I see the grandeur from a distance is deceiving. The streets are dirty. Small, pale children sit in groups, playing in the dirt. Half are clothed for summer, and the others are in clothing both tattered and too small. They watch us pass, their eyes intent.

  The adults are no better. Women scowl at us, and more than a few shifty-eyed men track us with their eyes. Toward the center of the village, a stone building stands. At some time—though I do not believe it was recently—its roof caught fire. It was a grand building once, standing proud in the middle of the square. As we pass it, I study the charcoaled sign, which hangs askew from the shop front.

  “It was the armorsmith’s guild hall,” Galinor says quietly. “It’s best not to show too much interest.”

  I look away, instead studying the cobbled street. Across from the guild hall, there is an inn. A young girl sweeps the step. She’s not well dressed, but she is clean, and when she sees us, she smiles.

  Her smile falls when we ride past. For a moment, I wish to stop, but then I remember the man from the road in Coppel’s warning. Galinor seems to hesitate as well, but he continues on. We make our way through the town. The air is getting quite cold, but it’s nothing compared to our welcome.

  The Dragon’s Claw is toward the back of Gelminshard, not far from the castle. There is raucous laughter drifting from the interior, and I give Galinor a questioning look. He isn’t impressed, but he pays a boy to mind our horses and offers me his hand. I glance at the youth. He appraises the horses greedily. I hope they are still here come morning.

  When we enter the inn, we have to press through the crowds. A fire roars in the hearth. It would be quite welcoming if it wasn’t for the drunken chaos. Near the hearth, two tables have been joined together, and it seems there is a game of chance underway. A crowd has gathered around, and they roar with approval when a large man, dressed in armor, tosses the dice on the table. Two women flank him, and he leans down and kisses one before he turns to the other.

  I wrinkle my nose and look away. Something tells me this is not our sort of establishment. “Galinor…”