Shines up purty as a new copper piece, that one does,” Clarisse noted as the three looked through the doorway at Thrace waiting in the parlor. Clarisse was a large rotund woman with rosy cheeks and short pudgy fingers that had a habit of playing with the pleats of her skirt. She and the other women of the Bawdy Bottom Brothel had done wonders with the girl. Thrace was clothed in a new dress. It was cheap and simple, a brown linen kirtle over a white smock with a starched brown bodice, but still decidedly more fetching than the rag she had worn. She hardly resembled the ragamuffin they met the night before. In addition to giving her a bed to sleep in, the women scrubbed, combed, and fed her. Even her lips and eyes were painted and the results were stunning. She was a young beauty with startling blue eyes and golden hair.
“Poor girl was in awful shape when you dropped her off. Where’d you find her?” Clarisse asked.
“Under the Tradesmen’s Arch,” Hadrian replied.
“Poor thing,” the large woman shook her head sadly. “You know if she needs a place, I’m sure we could put her on the roster. She’d get a bed to sleep in, three meals a day, and with her looks she could do well for herself.”
“Something tells me she’s not a prostitute,” Hadrian told her.
“None of us are, honey. Not until you find yourself sleeping under the Tradesmen’s Arch that is. You shoulda seen her at breakfast. She ate like a starved dog. ’Course she wouldn’t touch a thing ’till we convinced her that the food was free, given by the Chamber ’a Commerce to visitors of the city as a welcome. Maggie came up with that one. She’s a hoot, she is. That reminds me, the bill for the room, dress, food, and general clean up comes to sixty-five silver. We threw in the make-up for free ’cause Delia just wanted to see how she’d look on account she says she’s never worn it ’afore.”
Royce handed her a gold tenent.
“Well, well, you two really need to drop by more often, and next time without the girl, eh?” she winked. “Seriously though, what’s the story with this one?”
“That’s just it, we don’t know,” Hadrian replied.
“But I think it’s time we found out,” Royce added.
Not nearly as nice as Medford House back home, the Bawdy Bottom Brothel was decorated with gaudy red drapes, rickety furniture, pink lampshades, and dozens of pillows. Everything had tassels and fringe, from the threadbare carpets to the cloth edging adorning the top of the walls. It was old, weathered, and worn but at least it was clean.
The parlor was a small oval room just off the main hall with four bay windows that looked out on the street. It contained two loveseats, a few tables crowded with ceramic figures, and a small fireplace. Seated on one of the loveseats, Thrace waited, her eyes darting about like a rabbit in an open field. The moment they entered, she leapt from her seat, knelt, and bowed her head.
“Hey! Watch it, that’s a new dress,” Hadrian said with a smile.
“Oh!” she scrambled to her feet blushing, then curtseyed and bowed her head once more.
“What’s she doing?” Royce whispered to Hadrian.
“Not sure,” he whispered back.
“I am trying to show the proper reverence, your lordships,” she whispered to both of them while keeping her head down, “I’m sorry if I’m not very good at it.”
Royce rolled his eyes and Hadrian began to laugh.
“Why are you whispering?” Hadrian asked her.
“Because you two were.”
Hadrian chuckled again. “Sorry, Thrace-ah your name is, Thrace, right?”
“Yes, my lord, Thrace Annabell Wood of Dahlgren Village,” she awkwardly curtseyed again.
“Okay, well-Thrace,” Hadrian struggled to continue with a straight face. “Royce and I are not lords, so there is no need to bow or curtsy.”
The girl looked up.
“You saved my life,” she told them in such a solemn tone Hadrian stopped laughing. “I don’t remember a lot of last night, but I remember that much. And for that you deserve my gratitude.”
“I would settle for an explanation,” Royce said, moving to the windows. He began closing the drapes. “Straighten up for Maribor’s sake, before a sweeper sees you, thinks we’re noble, and marks us. We’re already on thin ice here as it is. Let’s not add to it.”
She stood up straight, and Hadrian could not help but stare. Her long yellow hair, now free of twigs and leaves, shimmered in waves over her shoulders. She was a vision of youthful beauty and Hadrian guessed she could not be more than seventeen.
“Now, why have you been looking for us?” Royce asked, closing the last curtain.
“To hire you to save my father,” she said, untying the purse from around her neck and holding it up with a smile. “Here. I have twenty-five silver tenents. Solid silver stamped with the Dunmore crown.”
Royce and Hadrian exchanged looks.
“Isn’t it enough?” She asked, her lips starting to tremble.
“How long did it take you to save up this money?” Hadrian asked.
“All my life. I saved every copper I was ever given, or earned. It was my dowry.”
“Your dowry?”
She lowered her head looking at her feet. “My father is a poor farmer. He would never-I decided to save for myself. It’s not enough, is it? I didn’t realize. I’m from a very small village. I thought it was a lot of money; everyone said so, but…” She looked around at the battered loveseat and faded curtains. “We don’t have palaces like this.”
“Well, we really don’t-” Royce began in his usual insensitive tone.
“What Royce is about to say,” Hadrian interrupted, “is we really don’t know yet. It depends on what you want us to do.”
Thrace looked up, her eyes hopeful.
Royce just glared at him.
“Well it does, doesn’t it?” Hadrian shrugged. “Now, Thrace you say you want us to save your father. Has he been kidnapped or something?”
“Oh no, nothing like that. As far as I know he’s fine. Although I have been away a long time looking for you. So, I’m not sure.”
“I don’t understand. What do you need us for?”
“I need you to open a lock for me.”
“A lock? To what?”
“A tower.”
“You want us to break into a tower?”
“No. I mean-well yes, but it isn’t like-it’s not illegal. The tower isn’t occupied; it has been deserted for years. At least I think so.”
“So you just want us to open a door to an empty tower?”
“Yes!” She said nodding vigorously so that her hair bounced.
“Doesn’t sound too hard,” Hadrian looked at Royce.
“Where is this tower?” Royce asked.
“Near my village on the west bank of the Nidwalden River. Dahlgren is very small and has only been there a short time. It’s in the new province of Westbank, in Dunmore.”
“I’ve heard about that place. It’s supposedly being attacked by elven raiders.”
“Oh, it’s not the elves. The elves have never caused us any trouble.”
“I knew it,” Royce said to no one in particular.
“Leastways I don’t think so,” Thrace went on. “We think it’s a beast of some kind. No one has ever seen it. Deacon Tomas says it’s a demon, a minion of Uberlin.”
“And your father?” Hadrian asked. “How does he fit into this?”
“He’s going to try and kill the beast, only…” she faltered and looked at her feet once more.
“Only you think it will kill him instead?”
“It has killed fifteen people and over eighty head of livestock.”
A freckle-faced woman with wild red hair entered the parlor dragging a short, pot-bellied man who looked like he had shaved for the occasion, his face nicked raw. The woman was laughing, walking backward as she hauled him along with both hands. The man stopped short when he saw them. His hands slipped through hers and she fell to the wooden floor with a hollow thud. The man looked from the woman to them and back, frozen in place. The woman glanced over her shoulder and laughed.
“Oops,” was all she could manage. “Didn’t know it was taken. Give us a hand up, Rubis.”
The man helped her to her feet. She paused to give Thrace a long appraising look then winked at them. “We do good work, don’t we?”
“That was Maggie,” Thrace told them after the woman hauled her man back out again.
Hadrian moved to the sofa and gestured for Thrace to sit, while taking a seat across from her. She sat gingerly and straight, not allowing her back to touch the rear of the sofa, and carefully smoothed out her skirt.
Royce remained on his feet. “Does Westbank have a lord? Why isn’t he doing something about this?”
“We had a fine margrave,” she said, “a brave man with three good knights.”
“Had?”
“He and his knights rode out to fight the beast one evening. Later, all that was found was bits and pieces of armor.”
“Why don’t you just leave?” Royce asked.
Thrace’s head drooped and her shoulders slouched a bit. “Two nights before I left to come here, the beast killed everyone in my family except for me and my father. We weren’t home. My father had worked late in the fields and I went to look for him. I-I accidentally left the door open. Light attracts it. It went right for our house. My brother, Thad, his wife, and their son were all killed.
“Thad-he was the joy of my father’s life. The reason we moved to Dahlgren in the first place-so he could become the town’s first cooper.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Now they’re all gone and my father has nothing left but his grief and the beast that brought it. He’ll see it dead, or die himself before the month is out. If I had only closed the door. If I had just checked the latch…”
Her hands covered her face and her slender body quivered. Royce gave Hadrian a stern look, shaking his head very slightly and mouthing the word “No.”
Hadrian scowled back and moved to sit beside her. He placed his hand on her shoulder and brushed the hair away from her eyes. “You’re going to ruin all your pretty make-up,” he said.
“I’m sorry. I really don’t want to be such a bother. These aren’t your problems. It is just that my father is all I have left and I can’t bear the thought of losing him too. I can’t reason with him. I asked him to leave, but he won’t listen.”
“I can see your problem, but why us?” Royce asked coldly. “And how does a farmer’s daughter from the frontier know our names and how to find us in Colnora?”
“A crippled man told me. He sent me here. He said you could open the tower.”
“A cripple?”
“Yes. Mister Haddon told me the beast can’t-”
“Mister Haddon?” Royce interrupted.
“Uh-huh.”
“This Mister Haddon…he wouldn’t be missing his hands, would he?”
“Yes, that’s him.”
Royce and Hadrian exchanged glances.
“What exactly did he say?”
“He said the beast can’t be harmed by weapons made by man, but inside the tower of Avempartha there is a sword that can kill it.”
“So, a man with no hands told you to find us in Colnora, and hire us to get a sword for your father from a tower called Avempartha?” Royce asked.
The girl nodded.
Hadrian looked at his partner. “Don’t tell me…it’s a dwarven tower?”
“No…” Royce replied, “it’s elvish.” He turned away with a thoughtful expression.
Hadrian returned his attention to the girl. He felt awful. It was bad enough that her village was so far, but now they faced an elven tower. Even if she offered them a hundred gold tenents, he would not be able to convince Royce to take the job. She was so desperate, so in need of help. His stomach knotted as he considered the words he would say next.
“Well,” Hadrian began reluctantly, “the Nidwalden River is several days travel over rough ground. We’d need supplies, for what, a six-seven day trip? That’s two weeks there and back. We’d need food and grain for the horses. Then you’d have to add in time at the tower. That’s time we could be doing other jobs, so that right there is money lost. Then there is the danger involved. Risk of any kind can bump our price and a mass-murdering phantom-demon-beast that can’t be harmed by weapons, has got to be classified as a risk.”
Hadrian looked into her eyes and shook his head. “I hate to say it, and I am very sorry, but we can’t take-”
“Your money,” Royce abruptly interjected as he spun around. “It’s too much. To take the full twenty-five silver for this job, ten really seems like more than enough.”
Hadrian raised an eyebrow and stared at his partner but said nothing.
“Ten silver each?” she asked.
“Ah-no,” Hadrian replied, keeping his eyes on Royce. “That would be together. Right? Five each?”
Royce shrugged. “Since I will be doing the actual picking I think I should get six, but we can work that out between us. It’s not something she needs to be concerned about.”
“Really?” Thrace asked looking as if she might explode with happiness.
“Sure,” Royce replied, “After all…we’re not thieves.”
“Want to explain why we are taking this job?” Hadrian asked, shielding his eyes as they stepped outside. The sky was a perfect blue, the morning sun already working to dry the lingering puddles from the night before. All around them people rushed to market. Carts loaded with spring vegetables and tarp covered barrels sat trapped behind three wagons mounded high with hay. Out of the crowd in front of them, a fat man charged forward with a flapping chicken gripped tightly under each arm. He danced around the puddles dodging people and carts and offering a muttered “excuse me,” as he pressed by.
“She’s paying us ten silver for a job that has already cost us a gold tenent,” Hadrian continued after successfully skirting the chicken man. “It will cost us several more before we’re done.”
“We’re not doing it for the money,” Royce informed him as he cut a path through the crowd.
“Obviously, but why are we doing it? I mean sure, she’s cute as a button and all, but unless you’re planning on selling her, I don’t see the angle here.”
Royce looked over his shoulder, displaying an evil grin, “I never even considered selling her. That could defray the costs considerably.”
“Forget I brought it up. Just tell me why we’re doing this.”
Royce led them out of the crowd toward Ognoton’s Curio Shop, whose window exhibited hookahs, porcelain animal figurines, and jewelry boxes with brass latches. They ducked around the side into the narrow bricked space between it and a confectioner shop that was offering free samples of hard candy.
“Don’t tell me you haven’t wondered what Esrahaddon has been doing,” Royce whispered. “That wizard was imprisoned for nine hundred years then disappears the day we break him out and we don’t hear a word about him until now? The church must know, and yet the Imperialists haven’t launched search parties or posted notices. I would think that if the most dangerous man alive was on the loose there might be a bit more of a commotion.
“Two years later he turns up in a tiny village and invites us to come visit. On top of that, he picks the elven frontier and Avempartha as the meeting place. Don’t you want to find out what he wants?”
“What is this Avempartha?”
“All I know is that it’s old. Real old. Some kind of ancient elven citadel. Which also begs the question, wouldn’t you like to get a peek inside? If Esrahaddon thinks there’s value in opening it, I’m guessing he’s right.”
“So we’re going after ancient elven treasure?”
“I have no idea, but I’m sure there is something valuable in there. But for that we need supplies and we need to get out of town before Price lets loose the hounds.”
“Well, as long as you promise not to sell the girl.”
“I won’t-if she behaves herself.”
Hadrian felt Thrace leaning again, this time gazing at a two-story country home of stucco and stone with a yellow thatch roof and orange clay chimney. It was surrounded by a waist-high wall overgrown with lilacs and ivy.
“It’s so beautiful,” she whispered.
It was early afternoon and they were only a few miles out of Colnora, traveling east along the Alburn road. The country lane twisted through the tangle of tiny villages that comprised the hill region surrounding the city. Little hamlets where poor farmers worked their fields alongside the summer cottages of the idle rich, who for three months a year, pretended to be country squires. Royce rode beside them or trotted forward as congestion demanded. His hood was up despite the pleasant weather. Thrace rode behind Hadrian on his bay mare, her legs dangled off one side, bobbing to the rhythm of the horse’s stride.
“It’s a different world here,” she said, “a paradise. Everyone is wealthy, everyone a king.”
“Colnora does alright, but I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Then how do you explain all the grand houses and palaces? The horse carts have metal rims on their wheels-metal! The vegetable stands overflow with bushels and bushels of onions and green peas and it is only spring. Look how smooth the road is, even after the rain, and do you see all the cows on that hillside? They even put street names on posts and back there a farmer was wearing gloves-gloves on his hands while working. My father won’t believe it when I tell him. In Dahlgren, even the church deacon doesn’t own fancy gloves, and he certainly wouldn’t work in them if he did. You all are so rich.”
“Some of them are.”
“Like you two.”
Hadrian laughed.
“But you have nice clothes and beautiful horses.”
“She’s not much of a horse really.”
“No one in Dahlgren but the lord and his knights own horses, and yours are so pretty. I especially like her eyes-such long lashes. What’s her name?”
“I call her Millie after a woman I once knew who had the same habit of not listening to me.”
“Millie is a pretty name. I like it. What about Royce’s horse?”
Hadrian frowned and looked over at him. “I don’t know. Royce, did you ever name her?”
“What for?”
Hadrian glanced back at Thrace who returned an appalled look.
“How about…” she paused, shifting and twisting as she scanned the roadside. “Lilac, or Daisy? Oh wait, no, how about Chrysanthemum.”
“Chrysanthemum?” Hadrian repeated. As funny as it might be to have Royce riding a Chrysanthemum, or even a Lilac or Daisy, he had to point out that flower names just did not fit Royce’s short, dirty, gray mare. “How about Shorty or Sooty?”
“No!” Thrace scolded him. “It will make the poor animal feel awful.”
Hadrian chuckled. Royce ignored the conversation. He clicked his tongue, kicked the sides of his horse and trotted forward to avoid an approaching wagon, but remained there even after the road was clear.
“How about Lady?” Thrace asked.
“It seems a bit haughty, don’t you think? She’s not exactly a prancing show horse.”
“Then it will make her feel better. Give her confidence.”
They were coming upon a stream where honeysuckle and raspberry bushes crowned the heads of smooth granite banks with brilliant springtime green. A gristmill stood at the edge, its great wheel creaking and dripping. A pair of small square windows, like dark eyes, created a face in the stone exterior beneath the steeply peaked wooden roof. A low wall separated the mill from the road and on it rested a white and gray cat. Its green eyes opened lazily and blinked at them. When they drew closer, the cat decided they had come close enough and leapt from the wall, darting across the road into the thickets.
Royce’s horse reared and whinnied, dancing across the dirt. He cursed and tightened the reins as the horse shuffled backward, pulling her head down and forcing her to turn completely around.
“Ridiculous!” Royce complained once the horse was under control. “A thousand pound animal terrified by a five pound cat, you’d think she was a mouse.”
“Mouse! That’s perfect.” Thrace shouted causing Millie’s ears to twist back.
“I like it,” Hadrian agreed.
“Oh, good lord,” Royce muttered, shaking his head as he trotted forward again.
As they rode farther northeast, the country estates became farms, rosebushes became hedges, and fences that divided fields gave way to mere tree lines. Still Thrace pointed out curiosities, like the unimagined luxury of covered bridges and the ornately decorated carriages that still occasionally thundered by.
They climbed higher, losing the shade as the land opened up into vast fallow fields of goldenrod, milkweed, and wild salifan. Flies dogged them in the heat and the drone of cicadas whined. In her discomfort, Thrace at last grew quiet and laid her head against Hadrian’s back. He became concerned she might fall asleep and topple off, but occasionally she would stir to look about or swat at a fly.
The broad road narrowed to a single carriage width and rose steadily upwards. To their left lay Chadwick. They steered clear and this drove them east toward Amber Heights. The prominent highland stood out as a bald spot of short grass and bare rock. Part of a long ridge that ran along the eastern edge of Warric, it served as the border between Colnora and the kingdom of Alburn. Reaching the crest, Colnora could be seen spread out below them along with the southern villages of Chadwick to the north. Ahead to the northeast lay endless miles of dense forest.
Amber Heights was a curiosity even to the local residents due to the standing stones, massive blue-gray rocks carved into uniquely fluid shapes. They appeared almost organic in their rounded curves, like a series of writhing serpents burrowing in and out of the hilltop. Hadrian did not have the slightest idea what purpose the stones might have originally served. He doubted anyone did. Remnants of campfires were scattered around the stones etched with messages of true love or the occasional slogan: “Maribor is God!”, “Nationalists are Barmy”, “The Heir is Dead”, and even “Gray Mouse Tavern-it’s all downhill from here”. Because the wind on the hilltop was cool and strong enough to drive off the flies, it made a perfect place to break for a midday meal.
They ate salted pork, hard dark bread, onions, and pickles. It was the kind of meal Hadrian would loathe to eat in a town, but seemed somehow wonderful on the road where his appetite was greater and options fewer. He watched Thrace sitting on the grass, nibbling on a pickle, being careful not to stain her new dress. She gazed off with a faraway look, inhaling the air in deep appreciative breaths.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
She smiled at him a bit self-consciously and he thought he noticed a sadness about her. “I was just thinking how wonderful it is here. How nice it would be to live on one of those farms we passed. We wouldn’t need anything grand, not even a house-my father can build a house all by himself and he can turn any soil. There’s nothing he can’t do once he sets his mind to it, and once he sets his mind, there’s no changing it.”
“Sounds like a great guy.”
“Oh, he is. He’s very strong, very determined.”
“I’m surprised he would allow you to set off alone across the country like you did.”
Thrace smiled.
“You didn’t walk all the way, did you?”
“Oh no, I got a ride with a peddler and his wife who stopped in Dahlgren. They refused to spend a second night and let me ride in the back of their wagon.”
“Have you done much traveling before?”
“No. I was born in Glamrendor, the capital of Dunmore. My family worked a tenant farm for his lordship there. We moved to Dahlgren when I was about nine, so I’ve never been out of Dunmore until now. I can’t even say I remember all that much of Glamrendor. I do recall it was dirty though. All the buildings were made of wood and the roads very muddy-at least that’s how I remember it.”
“Still that way,” Royce mentioned.
“I can’t believe you had the courage to just go off like that,” Hadrian said shaking his head. “It must have been a shock leaving Dahlgren and a few days later finding yourself in the largest city in the world.”
“Oh it was,” she replied, using her pinky finger to draw away a number of hairs that had blown into her mouth. “I felt foolish when I realized just how hard it was going to be to find you. I expected it would be like back home where I would be able to walk up to anyone and they would know who you were. There are a lot more people in Colnora than I expected. To be honest, there’s a lot more of everything. I looked and looked and I thought I would never find you.”
“I expect your father will be worried.”
“No he won’t,” she said.
“But if-”
“What are these things?” she asked pointing at the standing stones with her pickle. “These blue stones. They’re so odd.”
“No one knows,” Royce replied.
“Were they made by elves?” she asked.
Royce cocked his head and stared at her. “How did you know that?”
“They look a bit like the tower near my village-the one I need you to open. Same kind of stone-at least I think so-the tower looks bluish too, but it might be because of the distance-ever notice how things get blue in the distance? I suppose if we could actually get near it we might find it was just a common gray, you know?”
“Why can’t you get near it?” Hadrian asked.
“Because it’s in the middle of the river.”
“Can’t you swim?”
“You would have to be a real strong swimmer. The tower is built on a rock that hangs over a waterfall. Beautiful falls-really high, you know? Lots of water going over. On sunny days, you can see rainbows in the mist. Of course, it’s very dangerous. At least five people have died, only two are for sure, the other three are just guesses because-” She paused when she saw the looks on their faces. “Is something wrong?”
“You might have said something earlier,” Royce replied.
“About the waterfall? Oh, I thought you knew. I mean you acted like you knew the tower when I mentioned it before. I’m sorry.”
They ate in silence for a few moments. Thrace finished her lunch and walked around looking at the stones, her dress billowing behind her. “I don’t understand,” she finally said raising her voice over the wind. “If the Nidwalden is the border, why are there elven stones here?”
“This used to be elven land,” Royce explained. “All of it. Before there was a Colnora, or a Warric, it was part of the Erivan Empire. Most don’t like to acknowledge that; they prefer to think that men always ruled here. It bothers them. Funny thing is many of the names we use are elvish. Ervanon, Rhenydd, Glamrendor, Galewyr, and Nidwalden are all elven. The very name of this country Avryn means green fields.”
“Try and tell that to someone in a bar sometime and see how fast you get cracked in the head,” Hadrian mentioned, drawing looks from both of them.
While they finished eating, Thrace stood among the great stones staring west, her hair and dress whipping about her. Her sight rose to the horizon, out beyond Colnora, beyond the blue hills to the thin line of the sea. She looked so small and delicate he half expected the wind to carry her away like some golden leaf and then he noticed the look in her eyes. She was little more than a child and yet they were not the eyes of a child. The glow of innocence, the sparkle of wonder was absent. There was a weight to her face, a determination in her gaze. Whatever childhood she had known had long since abandoned her.
They finished their food, packed up, and set off again. Descending the far side of the heights, they continued to follow the road for the remainder of the day but as sunset neared, the road narrowed to little more than a simple trail. Farmhouses still appeared from time to time, but they were less frequent. The forest grew thicker and the road darker.
As sunlight faded, Thrace grew very quiet. There was nothing to see or point out anymore but Hadrian guessed it was more than that. Mouse skipped a stone into a windblown pile of last year’s leaves and Thrace jumped, grabbing his waist. She dug her nails in deep enough to make him wince.
“Shouldn’t we find shelter?” she asked.
“Not much chance of that out here,” Hadrian told her. “There might be a few more inns on the road ahead as we pass near Alburn, but nothing that will help us tonight. Besides, it’s a lovely evening. The ground is dry and it looks like it will be warm.”
“We’re sleeping outside?”
Hadrian turned around to see her face. Her mouth was open slightly, her forehead creased, her eyes wide and looking up at the sky. “We’re still a long way from Dahlgren,” he assured her. She nodded, but held on to him tighter.
They stopped at a clearing near a little creek that flowed over a series of rocks, making a friendly rushing sound. Hadrian helped Thrace down and pulled the saddles and gear off the horses.
“Where’s Royce?” Thrace asked in a whispered panic. She stood with her arms folded across her chest, looking around anxiously.
“It’s okay,” Hadrian told her as he pulled the bridle off Millie’s head. “He always does a bit of scouting whenever we stop for the night. He’ll circle the area making sure we’re alone. Royce hates surprises.”
Thrace nodded but remained huddled, as if standing on a stone amidst a raging river.
“We’ll be sleeping right over there. You might want to clear it some. A single stone can ruin a night’s sleep. I ought to know; it seems whenever I sleep outside I always end up with a stone under the small of my back.”
She walked into the clearing and gingerly bent over, tossing aside branches and rocks, nervously glancing skyward and jumping at the slightest sound. By the time Hadrian had the horses settled Royce had returned. He carried an armload of small branches and a few shattered logs which he used to build a fire.
Thrace stared at him, horrified. “It’s so bright,” she whispered.
Hadrian squeezed her hand and smiled. “You know, I bet you’re a wonderful cook, aren’t you? I could make us dinner, but it would be miserable. All I know how to do is boil potatoes. How about you give it a try? What do you say? There are pots and pans in that sack over there and you’ll find food in the one next to it.”
Thrace nodded silently, and with one last glance upwards, shuffled over to the packs. “What kind of meal would you like?”
“Something edible would be a pleasant surprise,” Royce said, adding more wood.
Hadrian threw a stick at him. The thief caught it and placed it on the fire.
She dug into the packs, going so far as to stick her head inside, and emerged moments later with an armload of items. She borrowed Hadrian’s knife and began cutting vegetables on the bottom of a turned-up pan.
It grew dark quickly, the fire becoming the only source of light in the clearing. The flickering yellow radiance illuminated the canopy of leaves around them, creating the feel of a woodland cave. Hadrian picked out a grassy area upwind from the smoke and laid out sheets of canvas coated in pitch. It blocked the wetness that would otherwise soak in. The treated fabric was something they had come up with after years on the road. But they did not have time to make one for Thrace. He sighed, threw Thrace’s blankets on his canvas and went in search of pine boughs for his own bed.
When dinner was ready, Royce called for Hadrian. He returned to the fire where Thrace was dishing out a thick broth of carrots, potatoes, onions and salted pork. Royce was sitting with a bowl on his lap and a smile on his face.
“You don’t have to be that happy,” he told him.
“Look, Hadrian-food,” Royce taunted.
They ate mostly in silence. Royce made a few comments about things they should pick up when they passed through Alburn such as another length of rope and a new spoon to replace the cracked one. Hadrian mostly watched Thrace who refused to sit near the fire; she ate alone on a rock in the shadows near the horses. When they finished, she stole away to the river to wash the pot and wooden bowls.
“Are you alright?” Hadrian asked, finding her along the stony bank.
Thrace was crouched on a large moss capped rock, her gown tucked tight around her ankles as she washed the pots by scooping up what sand she could find and scrubbing them with her fingers.
“I’m fine, thank you. I’m just not used to being out at night.”
Hadrian settled down beside her and began cleaning his bowl.
“I can do that,” she said.
“So can I. Besides, you’re the customer so you should get your money’s worth.”
She smirked at him. “I’m not a fool, you know. Ten silver won’t even cover the feed for the horses, will it?”
“Well, what you have to understand is Mouse and Millie are very spoiled. They only eat the best grain.” He winked. She could not help but smile back.
Thrace finished the pot and the other bowls and they walked back to camp.
“How much farther is it?” she asked replacing the pots in the sack.
“I’m not sure. I’ve never been to Dahlgren, but we made good time today so maybe only another four days.”
“I hope my father is alright. Mister Haddon said he would try to convince him to wait until I returned before hunting the beast. I hope he did. As I said my father is a very stubborn man and I can’t imagine anyone changing his mind.”
“Well, if anyone can, I suspect that Mister Haddon could,” Royce remarked prodding the coals of the fire with a long stick. “How did you meet him?”
Thrace found the bed Hadrian had laid out for her near the fire and sat down on her blanket. “It was right after my family’s funeral. It was very beautiful. The whole village turned out. Maria and Jessie Caswell hung wreaths of wild salifan on the markers. Mae Drundel and Rose and Verna McDern sang the Fields of Lilies, and Deacon Tomas said a few prayers. Lena and Russell Bothwick held a reception at their house. Lena and my mother were very close.”
“I don’t remember you mentioning your mother, was she-”
“My mother died two years ago.”
“I’m sorry. Sickness?”
Thrace shook her head.
No one spoke for awhile then Hadrian said, “You were telling us how you met Mister Haddon-”
“Oh yeah, well I don’t know how many funerals you’ve been to, but it starts to feel…smothering. All the weeping and old stories. I snuck out. I was just wandering really. I ended up at the village well and there he was-a stranger. We don’t get many of those, but that wasn’t all. He had on this robe that shimmered and kinda seemed to change colors from time to time, but the big thing was he had no hands. The poor man was trying to get himself a drink of water struggling with the bucket and rope.
“I asked his name and then, oh I don’t know, I did something stupid like starting to cry and he asked me what was wrong. The thing was, at that moment, I wasn’t crying because my brother and his wife just died. I was crying because I was terrified my father would be next. I don’t know why I told him. Maybe because he was a stranger. It was easy to talk to him. It all just spilled out. I felt stupid afterwards, but he was very patient. That’s when he told me about the weapon in the tower and about you two.”
“How did he know where we were?”
Thrace shrugged. “Don’t you live there?”
“No…we were visiting an old friend. Did he talk oddly? Did he use thee and thou a lot?”
“No, but he spoke a bit more educated than most. He said his name was Mister Esra Haddon. Is he a friend of yours?”
“We only met him briefly,” Hadrian explained. “Like you, we helped him with a little problem he was having.”
“The question is why is he keeping tabs on us?” Royce asked. “And how since I don’t recall dropping our names and he couldn’t have known we would be going to Colnora.”
“All he told me is that you were needed to open the tower and if I left right away I could find you there. Then he arranged for me to ride with the peddler. He’s been very helpful.”
“Rather amazing isn’t it, for a man who can’t even get himself a cup of water,” Royce muttered.