Darkfire: A Book of Underrealm (3 page)

Perhaps she imagined it, or mayhap she was looking for it now, but each time Loren glanced at Xain he seemed to be faring worse. An unhealthy pallor had come over his flesh, and she did not think the rain could make his skin quite so clammy. His eyes darted everywhere, and his arms would not cease their twitching. She could imagine him wanting to scratch, as he had in Wellmont after taking the magestones.

Jordel pushed them to ride after sundown, until the last light had almost faded from the cloudy sky. Then he found a site for their camp, in the lee of a tall hill where the ground had not been so terribly soaked. Again Loren gave silent thanks for her bedroll.

Their eager pace paid off; before noon the next day they spotted the lights and smoke of a village ahead as the rain began to lighten. Soon it was barely a drizzle, and Gem lowered his hood with a whoop and a laugh.

“At long last! How I have longed for a real bed and some warm food in my belly.”

“And you will have both, though we have precious little time to waste,” said Jordel. “Be sure to enjoy it.”
 

Despite his gruff words, Loren could hear the relief in his voice. If they had not been waylaid on the road already, she doubted either the Mystics or the family Yerrin could find them now.

“That will be the village of Strapa,” said Jordel. “It sits at the joining of Selvan’s Westerly Road and the smaller path leading to Wellmont, which the king never saw fit to name. No horseman or caravan may travel this way without passing through, unless they wish to journey for many miles around.”

“Curious that I have never heard of it,” said Annis. “My family’s wagons venture often upon the Westerly Road.”

“They do, but they would never stop in such an insignificant place. They would carry on to Sunvale, a quarter day north.”

A few miles before they reached the first houses of Strapa, Jordel turned them left and off the road. Mountains loomed above them, and the hills at their feet were coated thick with pine. Into the trees he led them, picking an unerring path through their trunks until the outside world was lost from view. Not for the first time, Loren was struck by the skill of his woodcraft, and wondered where he had learned it.

When they had reached a small clearing half a mile from the forest’s edge, Jordel commanded them to stop. A large pile of rocks lay at the clearing’s western rim, forming a small sort of cave that the rain could not reach. The Mystic dismounted, handing his reins to Loren, and went to inspect the caves with his drawn sword. Once he had been in and out of the rocks and inspected them all around, he returned with a grim smile.

“It is empty, and no tracks or droppings have been left for many a long month. It will serve.”

“Serve for what?” said Gem.

“To hold our unusual cargo, of course. Did you think to enter the village with a wizard trussed upon my horse like a fallen stag?”

Loren was surprised she had not thought of that herself. The sight of Strapa had been so welcome after their long and wet days upon the road, that she had had little thought for anything other than finding an inn. But of course Jordel was right. They could not exactly haul Xain along as they refreshed their supplies.

The Mystic deposited Xain within the cave, sheltered from the sky by rocks overhead. He produced another coil of rope from his saddlebag, and worked behind the wizard to secure his wrists to the boulders.

“That will do,” he said. “Come, we can ease our horses’ burdens somewhat. Gem, you will ride with me.”

“You mean to leave him here alone?” said Gem, aghast.

Loren spoke up as well. “That seems unwise, Jordel. I thought you meant to leave a guard.”

Jordel looked at them with a small smile, a light dancing in his eyes. “You forget that once, I was a hunter tasked with finding men like Xain. He shall not break the bonds I placed upon him.”

“But if he should?” said Annis, her voice quivering. She looked from Xain to Loren, as though seeking reassurance. The reins shook in her hands, and Loren felt pity well in her breast. “If he should manage to escape, will he not come seeking vengeance?”

Jordel looked at Annis with kindly eyes, but Gem’s face grew melancholy, and he slid from the saddle to stand before the Mystic. “We cannot just leave him here for some wandering soul to discover. I will stay and keep watch. Only do not forget to fetch me some food, for I may well starve before you return.”

Loren tried not to laugh. Jordel put a hand on Gem’s shoulder and answered him solemnly. “Your offer is valiant, young rogue, and I thank you for it. But I have told you that Xain will not escape, and I ask you to believe me. Even if I am proved wrong, you could not keep the wizard here unbound.”

Gem lifted his chin. “I could stop him.”

“I will not doubt you,” said Jordel. “But I
will
feed you. And Annis, if by some chance he should break his ropes, I do not think he would seek us out. More likely he would flee from here as fast as his feet could carry him, and hope to avoid us for all the rest of his days. Trust me, and come.”

They mounted and left. Loren looked back over her shoulder to see Xain staring with a menacing glare. Just before he vanished from sight, she saw him begin to struggle against the rope that bound his wrists. She shivered, then forced herself to believe in Jordel. He was a mage hunter, after all.
 

Jordel must have sensed their unease, for as they picked their way through the forest he spoke to them lightly.
 

“Strapa is not a place to leave your purse strings unguarded, and yet it is no grim village either. Any hub of trade will attract wandering villains and thieves, but those who live here are good folk, for the most part. Keep a clear eye and a strong bearing, and you will find no trouble. We will fetch ourselves new supplies quickly, then continue north on the Westerly Road.”

“It seems that Selvan is thick with those who pursue us,” said Annis. “Not only my family, but the Mystics as well. Why do we not travel through Dorsea, west of the mountains? It seems that way would put us farther from danger.”

“The borders of Dorsea will not stop my order, nor your kin,” said Jordel, “and indeed, I think they will guess our destination. Thus, we must not go there. Furthermore, with war brewing between that kingdom and this, travelers from Selvan would be most unwelcome. You are a child of the courts, and Gem a boy of the streets. You might disguise your voices, but Loren’s heavy accent would do us no favors in that land.”

Loren turned so quickly in surprise, she nearly fell from her saddle. “What accent? I speak as plainly as any other.”

“Indeed,” said Jordel with a faint smile. “As plainly as anyone from the Birchwood, born and raised in the kingdom of Selvan. As anyone could plainly hear.”

Gem laughed out loud. Annis giggled, “There’s no reason to be upset, Loren. He speaks the truth. Your voice is quite … regional.”

“It is
not!”
 

“No, it is quite impossible to hear you have come from the forest, raised in a small village by parents who most likely chopped wood,” said Gem, speaking in an outlandish fashion, lilting the first sound of every word.

“That sounds
nothing
like me!” said Loren, her anger heating by the second.

“You had best still your tongue, Gem,” said Annis, a light dancing in her eyes. “Or she might beat you with her great wood-chopping arms.”

Loren hunched her shoulders and lowered her hood, fuming, while Gem and Annis continued their jibes. At least the children were happy, and the air seemed to have thinned. Xain’s presence had been a heavy weight upon them, and now his absence freed their tongues and lightened their hearts.

So they came at last to the village of Strapa, little more than a few buildings clustered in the Greatrocks’ looming shadow. Loren saw several homes, not dissimilar to the houses of her village in the Birchwood. A curious pang of homesickness rippled through her. She had never found cause to miss her village, for no fond memories had ever invited her mind. There with happy times with Chet, and the old storyteller Bracken, but all were dwarfed by her parents’ looming shadow.

Yet now, seeing this simple place against the backdrop of the mountains, Loren saw nobility in such a life. True, her youth had not been easy, but many in her village had seemed happy — as did many walking the streets of Strapa now. She had seen much excitement since fleeing the Birchwood, and much peril. Loren could hardly imagine returning to such a life. And yet, to her surprise, some part of her missed it, longing for the day when her greatest fear was not chopping enough logs to please her father.

But as their horses picked a slow, careful path through the streets, Loren thought she saw some truth in Jordel’s warning. Many curious eyes watched them as they went, and not all sat in friendly faces. Many seemed to be surveying their party, as if measuring a meal before feasting. But Jordel’s frame was impressive, and he carried a broad sword at his waist. And though she bore no open weapon, still Loren was tall for a girl. She threw back her shoulders, trying to look larger, and when she caught their glances they must have seen something in her eyes to deter them, for they quickly averted their own.

Streets spread out from the village center like a wagon wheel’s spokes. As they neared the town’s heart, houses gave way to inns, taverns, and shops of trade. Once they reached its center, four roads led away: one heading southwest to Wellmont; one to the southeast, from which they had come; another north, where they were bound; and finally a narrow road, with buildings pressing close on either side, going northwest.
 

Loren nodded toward the tapered road. “Where does it go?”
 

Jordel followed her gaze. “You have a sharp eye. That road leads out of Strapa and into the Greatrocks themselves. There is a pass that leads through the mountains, along perilous heights and into deep valleys. It sees little travel, for it is a treacherous journey.”

“A secret mountain pass?” said Gem, his eyes alight. “Why do we not take that path, Jordel? It seems to suit our purpose, to hide us from watchful eyes upon the open road.”

Loren shared the thought, but Jordel shook his head. “I had thought the same as we rode north. But as I said, that way promises great danger. I fear it would add weeks to our journey, and mayhap months. Secrecy must surrender to speed, now more than ever. Time pulls us ever nearer to our doom, and faster the closer we draw.”

They fell silent, and stayed mute as Jordel led them to an inn. A stable boy took their horses, with many curious glances at Loren’s dazzling green eyes. Jordel slipped him a piece of copper. Inside, they found the common room had hardly an empty seat. Rain had driven the town’s inhabitants into the warmth of fire and ale. Though the place was boisterously loud and everyone seemed too interested in drink and conversation to notice four weary travelers, still Loren felt exposed as they stood upon the threshold, searching for a place to sit.

“There are too many eyes here,” said Jordel quietly. “I had not counted on such a crowd. It will go ill for us if our presence here is remarked.”

“Yet we stand like fools when food awaits,” said Gem, licking his lips. “I think I smell a stew.”

“Perhaps staying in the town is ill-advised,” said Jordel. “Mayhap a return to the forest is better.”

Annis and Gem both groaned. Loren, too, loathed the idea of spending another night upon the muddy ground, and could already imagine the comfort of a straw mattress beneath her.
 

“Jordel, we are soaked through,” she said quickly. “The children might fall ill if we press too hard. We will do ourselves no favors exceeding our limits, and the road grows ever longer. If any here would remark us, they could have done so in the streets.”

“Very well,” Jordel said. “But we eat in our room, and leave at first light.”

Gem gave a tiny whoop. They headed toward the back, where the innkeeper’s greedy eyes were already upon them. Jordel gave her coin, and she had a serving girl lead them to a room with a single mattress. Soon they had filled their bellies with meat and broth, and sat in lazy, contented silence.
 

“I’d wager you’re happy we stopped now, Mystic.”
 

“Gem, be
quiet!”
snapped Loren. “If I hear that word from you even once more, I shall make you regret it.”

“Indeed, you should use more care,” said Jordel. “I do not trust the thickness of these walls. But I will not deny that I am grateful for a hot meal. We will have few before Feldemar.”

“Must you always douse my hopes?” said Gem, flopping over on his stomach in a huff.

Loren found herself preoccupied with her strange homesickness, and said nothing. Annis looked at her with interest, picking gristle from between her teeth.

“You’re curiously quiet, Loren. Whatever troubles you?”

“Nothing,” she said, shaking her head. “This place. It brings to mind the village I came from, that is all.”

“Longings for home are no strange thing for a traveler,” said Jordel.

“You have heard enough of my past to know I have little reason to miss the Birchwood.” A cold bitterness crept into her words.

“Reason rarely governs the heart,” said Jordel softly. “I have met boys whose fathers were taken with drink, horrid memories of war, or the blackest of souls. They were beaten every day since they could walk, the father seeking revenge on his flesh and blood for a pain that can never be soothed. Yet when these boys told me of the day their fathers died, they wept hot and bitter tears. Few hold only hatred for home and family, no matter how justified.”

“I do,” said Loren fiercely. “I would die before returning. I think you speak from your own mind, and know little of ours, Jordel. The three of us have suffered much in our youth at the hands of those who should have protected us.”

She looked to Gem and Annis for support. Yet Gem did not meet her eyes, staring at his fingernails as he picked them with his tiny knife. Annis pulled her cloak tighter around her, then raised her gaze.

“I have little wish to return to my mother. Yet not all my memories are ill. She used to take me to the sea that surrounded the High King’s seat, and together we played in the waves. She did not even bring retainers, or any guards I could see. She stopped when I grew older — yet if she had always acted thus, I might not have wished to leave so badly.”