One of the animals leapt on her back as he lifted her, causing her feet to slip and collapsing her onto the rock. The wolf snagged the stave of her bow in its maw instead of her neck, ripping it from her pack as it fell back to the ground. Her wet clothes came with it, temporarily draping the wolf while Rogan hoisted her the remainder of the incline.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, swinging her over and out of the way. The second wolf leapt and gained purchase on the slope, almost making it onto the shelf before Rogan kicked it down with the sole of his boot. The beast yelped, then joined its partner in snarling and pacing below.
Rogan drew his saber as two more wolves came running down the trail from the east. “What are our options?”
Saffron stood and looked over the edge. While the drop was not excessive, all it would take was a turned ankle to doom them. “Unless you hope to outrun wolves, the sword may be all that is left.” One of the wolves made another lunge upward, but retreated when Rogan slashed in its direction. “I could shoot them if you want to retrieve my bow.”
“I will have to pass. What we need is a wounded calf to wander by and distract them.”
“Or fire,” she said, trailing off, as if an idea had taken root.
Rogan could not afford sparing the attention to decipher her thoughts. The wolves tried fervently to ascend the shelf, one after another, and his hands were full keeping them at bay. They were learning, too. After swinging his saber at one, a second would leap during his backswing.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Saffron bend over, busy with something – he hoped it was helpful. One of the wolves bit the bridge of his boot and he overreacted, trying to shake it off. His preoccupation left an opening, and another wolf took it. It brushed past him, and he lost his balance trying to swing at it. “Saffron!”
She turned and rolled right as the wolf lunged for her. It knocked over the pile of kindling she had assembled, and snarled as she gracefully pushed herself up and drew the knife from her boot in one, fluid motion.
Rogan knocked the wolf from his own boot with his other foot, and stole a quick glance toward Saffron – he could not let her come to harm. He struggled to push back from the ledge and stand, feeling suddenly clumsy. The wolf growled and circled Saffron, assessing, its mane bristled in threatening display.
She began to sing in Begnari. Rogan could not imagine a more odd time to break into song, but just as he made it to his feet, another wolf came scampering up the ledge. He had no choice but to focus on repelling it, or the shelf would soon be overrun. Three more wolves arrived and howled as if claiming victory.
Suddenly, a flash of red lit up the shelf, and the wolf opposite Saffron let out a horrid, whining yelp. It dashed past Rogan and down the ledge, its fur on fire! He looked at Saffron in wonderment. She was still singing with arms extended forward, the knife in one hand, the other, palm out. She was staring at her open hand as she took careful steps to the edge of the shelf. In it, a tiny blossom of pure flame grew, until its petals opened. Saffron pursed her lips and blew, sending the fire bloom shooting toward another of the circling wolves. It cried out as the flower struck it, immolating the fur of its hind quarters.
The two ignited animals ran off in panic, while the others circled and howled in confusion. Rogan wanted to do the same. He had seen Palomar evoke spectacular effects from his singing, but he was a being from another realm. This was Saffron!
He waved his blade and yelled at the animals as menacingly as he could manage, and sure enough the wolves took off after their departed pack-mates. Saffron ceased her song as soon as the retreat was complete, then stood with a blank expression, as if also surprised by what had just happened. A moment later, though, it shifted into a pleased grin.
“How did you do that?” Rogan asked as he embraced her, relief that she was unharmed washing over him.
“Magic,” she replied, almost laughing the word. She let their bodies remain close for a few seconds before stepping back. “Please, you are still soaking wet.”
“Oh, my apologies. I’m glad you’re safe, that’s all… since when can you do magic?”
“Palomar says I was touched with the gift, and only need to learn how to use it. We’ve been practicing, but I’ve never been able to control it like that.” She said no more, but her eyes were alight with a wonderful secret she appeared unready to share.
Saffron sheathed her knife as he put away his saber. “I am not sure I will be able to sleep tonight, but we should still set up camp if you think it safe. We need to get you out of those wet clothes and warmed.”
“I feel plenty warm now,” he laughed. His heartbeat was still at double speed. “We can keep watch, and get a fire going. I don’t think those same wolves will trouble us again if there is any sign of a flame.”
“I will get started on the fire,” she winked. “Could you retrieve my bow?”
“Of course. I suppose hunting will have to wait another day. How are we doing on those delicious biscuits?” He climbed down the ledge to the road and found the bow, which had fallen into a ravine during the commotion. Luckily, it seemed to have escaped damage. He gathered her fallen clothes as well, and by the time he hoisted them up and climbed the shelf himself, Saffron had a small fire burning.
“I don’t know how much tinder is available here. Most of the wood is wet, so we should take advantage of the flame while we have it. I’ll look about for more dry branches.”
While Saffron scouted the area, Rogan hung a length of his rope between two tree trunks near the fire. He unpacked the two changes of clothes he brought and strung them over the line to dry. Once they were up he stripped, so he could hang those garments as well.
When Saffron returned to the campfire’s halo with an armful of wood, she nearly dropped it. “What are you doing?” Her eyes were closed by the time he turned to face her. She was standing in place, holding a pile of pine twigs and branches.
“I’m drying out my clothes. Don’t worry, I left room for yours as well.” He suddenly remembered how she had asked him to turn away while she disrobed, and her meaning dawned on him. “Oh, forgive me, I did not mean to offend.” Surrounded by men for so long, in prison and during the rebellion, he had forgotten the modesty required by female companionship. He grabbed his still-damp blanket and wrapped it around his waist. “I’m covered now,” he offered.
She opened her eyes slowly, dubious of the truth. “Baron Rogan, do I need to remind you we are not betrothed?”
“I am aware, m’lady.”
“Hmmm.” She stacked the wood next to the fire to dry, and stuck another branch into it. “Please act like it, then. I shall take first watch.” Saffron spread the contents of her pack and hung the wettest garments on Rogan’s line, while he ate his dinner rations in silence.
Worn out and unwilling to start an argument, he curled up as close to the fire as safety allowed, and tried to get some rest. As he drifted off to sleep, he heard Saffron humming a gentle tune, which put him at ease.
The night passed without a return of the wolves. Saffron woke Rogan for his shift, and he spent much of the time either tending the fire or watching as she slept. He had the sinking feeling that bringing her along was going to lead to trouble, but he also knew he was powerless to refuse when she volunteered to accompany him. Her presence was, quite simply, invigorating.
Morning came with their clothes less damp, if not their spirits. He hoped things would improve once they got out of the Pass and into more open country. He would have given half of Thispany for the flank of a wild boar. It would be a hard thing to go another full day with only those cold, hard biscuits to eat – and few of them remained.
The slope of the trail started declining around midday, proof they were almost through the mountains, and the adjacent cliffs gave way to less steep abutments shortly thereafter. By mid-afternoon they bid farewell to the Wyvernwatch, though they intended to follow its roots westward as far as the tongue of the River Chelhos. No established path existed to guide t
hem once they left the Harpy Pass, but Rogan assured his companion he would not lead her astray.
“Just keep the mountains within sight to our right, and it’s hard to go wrong. Now, are you going to put that bow of yours to use, or should I? There is a promising wood to the southwest.”
Saffron, back in her traveling breeches and tunic, unfastened her bow and quiver and handed them over. “Since you enjoy it so much, why not go ahead. You certainly have more experience stalking the animals here. Besides, I want to investigate some plants. This region is mostly unknown to me, and awaits discovery.”
Rogan was not about to argue, as his stomach eagerly anticipated a hearty meal. He gladly took the bow and made his way toward the young forest. “Meet me at the tree line in roughly an hour,” he called back, already setting his mind to the hunt. He wanted to avoid distracting thoughts of Salmarsh, which lay only several leagues to the south. They did not have time to investigate, but he hoped the townsfolk had not fared too poorly in the wake of the Blood Tear’s retribution.
It took him a shade longer than an hour, but he assumed Saffron would not begrudge him the time, given his success. He managed to bring down a second-year buck. When he emerged from the canopy of the woods, he whistled to alert Saffron, and began preparing his prey for cooking.
She emerged within minutes, carrying an assortment of leaves and stems, and congratulated him on his kill.
“I will get a fire going,” she said, happily.
“I’ll filet some thin strips we can salt and store for later.” Rogan wanted to show Saffron she was not the only one who thought ahead. “I brought an empty sack for such a purpose. Anything there useful for cooking?”
“Perhaps you could tell me. A couple of them have pleasing scents.”
They spent the next few hours preparing, cooking, and eating the venison, flavored with a bit of green onion. When they had eaten their fill and packed away as much as they could justify carrying, Rogan suggested they relax until their meal digested. He sat cross-legged and removed a piece of folded leather from his shirt pocket. Saffron, lying nearby, perked up when he removed delicate splinters of bone from inside the leather.
“What are those?”
“Lockpicks,” he answered as he polished the tools with a soft, black cloth. “Xyanarind ivory,” he explained before she could ask.
Saffron watched him at work for a short while before reclining once more. “Do you know how to use them?”
There was a challenge in her tone, but he could also hear the smile on her face without looking. “Of course. I am an outlaw, remember?” He did not mention he made them himself from a comb that used to be his wife’s, or that polishing them was soothing, because it made him think of her. When he finished, he knew it was time to go.
The day turned quite warm and they shed their outer garments as they walked through green fields of high grass. A fine afternoon for a lazy stroll, Rogan allowed himself to pretend he was doing just that, and not heading toward enemy territory on a dangerous mission. The fantasy was all the more appealing with Saffron at his side. She showed such curiosity for the tiny marvels of spring he took for granted. Her presence was an almost cruel reminder of the possibilities life held before his path altered, but he made no effort to push such thoughts away.
Chapter 15
Talon Barge
F inally south of the road, they maintained a steady, but leisurely pace, managing good time across the gently rolling terrain. For four days they crossed open-skied pastures, meadows of wildflowers in bloom, and small wooded groves, until at last the firm ground gave way to spongy turf. They were nearing the snaked tongue of the River Chelhos, fed by Lake Pelmar high in the peaks of the Wyvernwatch Mountains.
“I know a small settlement on the river where we can acquire a rowboat for a few silvers,” Rogan mentioned as they trudged through muddy swampland. “We will have to be careful once other people are around. You should speak as little as possible.”
Saffron opened her mouth to respond, but he answered her unspoken objection first.
“You look unique enough as it is. If others hear you speak, there will be no doubt you are a foreigner, and that will just bring questions. Chelpians, especially since the King-priest took power, are a suspicious lot. We don’t want more attention than we can help. In fact,” he said, reaching around to grab her braid, “this will have to be undone. You should wear your hair over your shoulders. Better yet, let as much fall over your face as possible. It will help conceal your features.”
“All right, stop pawing at it! I can fix my own hair.” She ran her fingers through its strands to expand it, then tousled the edges until it became tangled. “There,” she said, “does it look unsophisticated enough for you?”
Rogan sighed, unsure her fiery attitude was going to allow them to pull off the charade. He could not help admiring her wild, uncompromising spirit, regardless of whether it might get them thrown into prison. Deciding not to waste more effort attempting to subdue her expression, he accepted he would simply pay the consequences as they came.
Evening was thick upon them when they finally reached the settlement – more a homestead than true village. Lanterns were lit to help with finishing the day’s chores.
“Wait here,” Rogan instructed as they made their way up the line of a crooked fence. The cabin ahead had the look of a fisherman’s place, with extra nets hanging on wooden frames in the yard and an upside-down, dug-out canoe resting against the side of the building.
A man with weathered skin, his back permanently bowed from patient hours waiting for a tug on his line, sat on a bench in front of a low table down by the water’s edge. Several fish were spread across its surface, and the man proficiently worked his knife through them, one-by-one, gutting and scaling.
Rogan raised his hand in greeting as he approached the fisherman, trying to look as non-menacing as possible with a saber sheathed to his belt. The man raised his head to look at Rogan, but never stopped his knife’s work. He peered past Rogan to account for Saffron, then once again bent to consider his task.
“Good evening, sir. Well met.”
“Not many strangers come around these parts, and none that don’t come from the river.”
Rogan couldn’t find a question in the man’s observation, but decided that being direct would serve him best. A rowboat already floated in the water, tied to a mooring. “I understand. My wife and I don’t mean to stay longer than we have to. We need passage down the river, and I was wondering if we might make a purchase from you, if you have a spare boat. That canoe against your house, for instance?”
The man stopped gutting and looked up. They locked eyes, and Rogan did his best to maintain the contact without challenging.
“I suppose you’ll be needing a spot to spend the night and some fresh fish for dinner as well?”
“I would be obliged, sir.”
“Mmhm.” The man chopped off two of the smaller fishes’ heads, then held their bodies up by the tails and handed them to Rogan. “You can take the canoe and use the shed in back for shelter, though it’s shaping up to be a fine night out in the yard, too. If anyone asks, they’re gifts. Of course, you can leave a donation on the porch – we don’t get taxed on donations.”
“I understand. Thank you for your kindness.” Rogan carried the fish back to Saffron. “Don’t ask,” he said as he nodded toward the fisherman’s back yard. “We should be safe to camp here tonight, and have some variety in our bellies.”
“I was not complaining. Do we have transport for tomorrow? I look forward to resting my feet.”
“Aye, that dugout against the wall. He offered it up rather easily; we shall have to inspect it for holes in the morning.”
“Maybe it was the fact you are wearing a blade and he did not want any trouble?” she offered.
“Perhaps. I think I’ll sleep lightly tonight.” Rogan exhaled and adopted a happier tone, “For now, let us fry up these fish. You have some of that lemongrass left, do
you not?”
Saffron bit her lower lip and nodded, then set to rummaging through her pack.
Reclining on their bedrolls by the crackling fire in the afterglow of their meal, which was so tasty Rogan relaxed his suspicion of the fisherman’s motives, he noticed how noisy a spring evening in the wetlands truly was.
Croaks and calls from bullfrogs and insects created a discordant symphony all around them. It was strangely comforting, though, a lullaby sung by an anonymous thousand, who he preferred stay unseen. Yet falling asleep proved difficult. Saffron had no such trouble, but Rogan’s mind was busy worrying about all the ways things could go wrong once they reached Talon Barge. He would be exposing himself in one of the busier cities in the Empire – the King-priest would no doubt have eyes and ears everywhere.
Finally, he stared into the fire, hoping it would make him weary. He would gladly give his freedom, if it meant succeeding in his cause. He owed that to the Damper who had offered him a second chance at life, though Rogan knew it was never as simple as trading one thing for another. He had to execute his plan precisely, for so much hung in the balance – the hopes of Saffron, Palomar, and the lives of all the soldiers he was bringing along on his quest. Rogan was getting the chance he wanted, though it came with so much responsibility.
Sleep eventually arrived, but between the frogs and his busy mind, it was far from restful.
By the time Rogan arose in the morning, the fisherman had already departed. At least, his rowboat was gone. Saffron was down by the river, lurching over their new canoe, its front half bobbing with the current.
“No holes,” she informed him.
He nodded and shook the sleepiness from his head. “I was only joking about that.” Still, her mouth was tight with concern. “Are you truly worried?” He approached the riverbank, his boots squishing into the soft ground with every step. “I am sure it is a perfectly reliable vessel. What, have you never been on a boat before?”
Shiver the Moon Page 21