Chapter 24

  They slept in turns. Eike took the first watch, though she had been reluctant to let him. He had lost a lot of blood and should’ve still been feeling the effects of the inn’s spiced mead. But he had talked her down, shouting that as a representative of House Aalder, it would besmirch their good name if he did not keep watch.

  Fia had moaned, grumbling about how he never listened to her, but in truth, she was relieved. His wounds had seemed so severe, but they couldn’t be so bad. He was already back to the same stubborn boy he always was. She had intended to secretly keep watch as well, but as soon as her head hit the pillow, she fell fast asleep.

  There was a loud knock, and Fia woke with a start. It was dawn, their room washed in its grey light. In the corner, lay the assassin. His skin had gone hard, leathery like old pudding, dark and cracking. Bits of him were breaking off, falling to the floor, brittle cakes of dried sediment.

  More knocking. Eike was at the door, face pressed against the keyhole, peering out into the hall.

  “Open up.” A voice cried out. “There have been reports of a disturbance. We’ve been called to settle the matter.”

  “What now?” Whispered Eike, eyes darting between Fia and the assassin. “It's going to be a bit tricky to explain this.

  “Open up,” the voice repeated. I won’t ask again.”

  “You better do what he says.”

  “What? Don’t you think that’s a little—”

  —The door flew open, crashing into Eike and sending him toppling to the floor.

  Soldiers flooded into the room, golden plate gleaming in the torchlight. Trailing behind them was a large man dressed in deep olive robes, carrying a scroll in his hands. Upon entering the room, he unrolled the paper, eying the corpse in the corner. Then he coughed, clearing his throat, and began to read.

  “To the occupants of room seven of The Stag’s Rest: During the late hours of last night, guests reported screams, thuds, and general sounds of commotion emanating from room seven.” For such a large man, his voice was high-pitched and nasal. A grinding squeal like the turn of a rusting hinge. “The night watch was duly notified, and upon further inspection,” he paused, pulling out a quill and scratching at the parchment, “a corpse was discovered at the scene.”

  “He attacked us!” Eike protested.

  More scratching. “Suspects, refused entry, and upon forced access were belligerent and combative. The man, short—”

  “—Average! And besides, I’m still growing!”

  “The woman, a possible witch-like creature.”

  “I’m not a witch!”

  “Hmmm,” the man sniffed, “Insubordinate… and churlish.”

  “I am not a witch!” Why did people keep calling her that? She pulled back her cloak, revealing the white and gold uniform. “Do you see this? We are on the same side!”

  He stared at her, studying the uniform. Then began scratching away. “Correction. Possible mage. Suspect claims to be one of King Anselm’s. She has the robes…requesting a veil check.” The scroll began to glow, and the man took one hand and reached into its aureate light. From it he drew a golden charm, covered in strange runes. It reminded Fia of her compass, though they were not so similar.

  “Alright, step forward.” He snapped, holding up the charm. “Now produce your veil.”

  “My—”

  —But as she spoke, there was a flash of light. And from out of her stepped a hooded figure, cloaked in ivory and holding a golden staff. Ella. She bowed before the charm and vanished.

  The large man nodded. “Veil confirmed. How should we proceed?” The paper glowed, and he rolled it up, stowing it away in his robes.

  “Apologies, ma’am. We didn’t expect any of you out this far, especially considering…”

  “Our King needs me here.”

  “Of course, of course. Could you please tell me what happened?” He pointed over to the crumbling assassin.

  “We were attacked in the night.”

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  “You and your…?”

  “Travelling companion.” Eike stood, mouth hanging open, eyes wide, dumbstruck.

  “Of course.”

  “He came up from the floorboards, travelling through shadow. I think he had been watching us for a while.”

  “Hmmm,” he stroked his chin, pulling at thin strands of a wispy beard.

  "Eike killed him. When he died, he sort of stiffened up, breaking into pieces like dirt.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed, and he turned back to his men. “There’s an infestation in the inn, rats beneath its floors. We’ll need to level it. Get everyone out.”

  The soldiers gave a quick salute, then rushed from the room, banging down the halls, shouting.

  “That can’t be necessary,” Eike finally spoke, “The man is dead. The danger passed.”

  The large man did not answer, instead crossing the room to kneel by the body, taking its hand in his own. And, with a twist, he snapped off one of the fingers. For a moment, there was silence, as he studied the pale bruised flesh. Then, with a deep breath, he closed his hand into a fist, crushing it, and blew its dust onto the floorboard. “It is,” he finally replied.

  Turning to Fia, he spoke again, “I hope your business at The Stag’s Rest is concluded. I do not wish to delay, or the infestation may spread to the surrounding buildings.”

  “We’ll pack at once.”

  “You can’t just destroy someone’s home! Eike shouted.

  “They will be well compensated,” the man sighed, “believe me, no one wants this breaking containment.”

  “But—”

  “Please,” he held up his hand, returning his gaze to Fia. “Please, keep your companion in check. And make sure he doesn’t do anything ill-advised. I really don’t have time for this.” He gave her a curt bow, eyes shifting around the room as he did. Then nodded and shuffled out the door.

  Eike sat, head in his hands, brow furrowed. He was staring at the body.

  “If it's an infestation, then where are the rest of them? Why didn’t they attack us as well?”

  “I don’t know…”

  “They must be lying.” His face had grown dark.

  “Why? What other reason could there be?”

  “I don’t know. Does there need to be a reason? Maybe the land beneath is filled with treasure, perhaps they’ve taken a bribe, or maybe they just don’t like the innkeeper.” He tossed a pillow and sank deep into the cushions.

  Fia sat beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “There’s nothing we can do here.”

  “But you're one of them. They listened to you. Tell them—”

  “—No…”

  He looked at her, eyes clouded. “Why?”

  “I’m not… It's my sister. I don’t know why…”

  “The veil check, was that… your sister?”

  “No…I don’t know. I think, maybe it belonged to her.”

  “Well,” he looked at her again, the storm passing from his eyes. “Whatever it was. It saved us. I’d probably be rotting away in some jail cell if you hadn’t been here.”

  “I think you might not have needed saving if I hadn’t been here.”

  Eike smiled, “Maybe not. But I’m glad you’re here all the same.” He rose, gathering his things. “If you say there’s nothing we can do, then that’s that. I’ll follow your lead.”

  She smiled back at him. “Let’s get out of here.”

  **********

  Word of Orent’s fall was yet to reach Varrow. In fact, it seemed the people were not even aware that Malachai’s army had been on the move. It was early, but the streets were already bustling. Merchants and soldiers, some, their day just beginning, others still drinking from the night before. It was a curious town. The locals, it appeared, had mostly abandoned it, leaving it home to a transient group of salesmen and cowards.

  “We should find somewhere to rest.”

  “Somewhere to drink, more like.”

  “I don’t think you’ve slept at all.”

  But Eike was not listening, “A drink would do me good.” He muttered.

  “You haven’t even had breakfast!”

  He turned to her as a loud rumble escaped from his belly. “Breakfast! What a great idea! And I know just the place. Sausage, bacon, an omelet or two… and what goes well with bacon? Ale!”

  “I think you might still be feeling last night’s drink.”

  “I feel pretty good, actually.”

  Fia took a deep breath, slowly exhaling. “That’s just it. You shouldn’t.”

  **********

  “Two ales, please.”

  “Just tea for me.”

  Eike stared across the table, his head rocking back and forth, dipping dangerously close to the sharp corner. “Like I said, two ales, please.”

  “I really don’t think that’s—”

  “—And a full breakfast! For me, and…” He fell silent, watching her expectantly.

  She sighed. Nodding.

  “One for my companion!”

  Inside the tavern, the savory scent of minced meats wafted through the air, mixing with the smell of sweet honey and rich plum wine. It made Fia’s mouth water, and her stomach growled, rumbling in rhythm with the sounds emerging from the seat opposite to her.

  “I’m surprised you managed to hold it together this long.”

  “Still holding it together,” he mumbled, staring longingly at the kitchen door.

  “Do you drink often?”

  “No…The stuff never really affects me,” He leaned back, his chair swinging precariously on one leg, “so I never saw the point.”

  “Oh…Yes, of course, that makes sense.

  The meal was every bit as good as advertised. Minced pie, rich with chopped apples, dried fruit, and warm spices, alongside crisp sausages and tender omelets, folded over rare truffles and herbs. They ate in silence, devouring the meal, heads bent over their plates. When she finally lifted her head, she saw that Eike was fast asleep. He hadn’t even touched his ale.

  She got them a room. Then, as discreetly as she could, she summoned her staff. Lifting him slightly off the ground, she led him up the stairs. There were some strange looks, but no one brave enough to challenge her.

  After she got him into bed, she sat while thinking. It was already past noon. Not that it mattered much. Soon the day would be done, and she would have to leave him. But not yet, she could stay awhile, to keep him company. Fia reached into her pack, pulling out a canvas. And she began to paint.

  The sun turned red. And she kept painting. The stars began to fall, and she painted still. And as the red sun fell from the sky, she looked up, studying the painting. Eike, in the forest, sun-kissed and smiling. It wasn’t quite right, it felt empty. She paused a moment, watching as the crimson hue faded from the sky. And as the world collapsed around them, she painted herself into the scene.

  She left it with him. She didn’t know why, but she wanted him to see it. Not that he would remember. But it was for him. It was what he had asked for.

  From her pack she drew a second canvas. This one, already finished. A picture of home. She unraveled it, nailing it to the wall. The painting glowed as she lifted her staff. And she stepped through it, vanishing from the room.

  Cycle: Timor 5-3