David and the others reached the I’ildril Road as the sun began its descent into the west. Through the thinning trees ahead, David glimpsed sunlight shimmering off the surface of the Gop River. A wooden arrow sign bore the names of three towns. To the east, over an arched stone bridge, lay Bybrook and Stonewater. To the west, down a narrow forest road, lay their destination, Gable. Trog shifted the bag on his shoulder and glanced behind him as if making sure all his ducklings were in tow, and bore left.
“Trog, can we rest for a bit?” Charlotte tossed her rucksack to the ground and sat on a boulder. “We’ve been traveling for hours. My feet hurt. I’m hungry.”
A subtle vibration in the ground turned Trog around. Two riders, clad in studded leather armor as black as the horses they rode, thundered toward them.
The riders slowed and set their horses prancing in a circle around Trog. Eyes peered out from beneath wolf-faced helmets. One of the horsemen pulled his sword and dropped from his saddle. He removed the metal helmet from his head. “Good day,” he said, his smile devoid of any hint of warmth. “Where might you be headed this late in the eve?”
Trog’s voice remained calm. “We’re on our way home to Gable.”
“Is that right?” He grinned. “I take it you’ve traveled this road before?”
“Many times.” Trog’s eyes narrowed. “Is there something I can do for you, sir?”
The man chuckled. “Now that is a question, isn’t it?” He scooped Charlotte’s bag from the ground.
Charlotte went to protest. David grabbed her arm.
“There is nothing of any value in there, good man,” Trog said. “We’re traveling empty but for a few coins, if it’s money you seek.”
The man plucked a cotton petticoat from the rucksack and held it up by the tip of his sword. “Well, what have we got here?”
“Put my things down!” Charlotte shouted.
David squeezed her arm. “Shh! Are you trying to get us killed?”
The man’s mouth twisted in a malevolent smile as he stepped toward her. “Ah, what a pretty lass.”
The shime snapped together, their crossbows drawn, their arrows nocked before David blinked. He nudged Charlotte further back toward the bank of the river and assessed their surroundings. He found a spot on the opposite bank of the river he could ferry if need be, but he didn’t want to use his magic if he didn’t have to. Even though he’d spent the last few hours honing his skills, much to Charlotte’s and Trog’s annoyance, they were far from perfect. He also had no idea how Charlotte would react to being shot a thousand feet in a split second. Still, the leer on the man’s face ignited anger within him he never felt before, anger so intense it could light a bonfire without a match. He balled his right hand into a fist and imagined it planted in the man’s face.
“I suggest you drop the bag and move along,” Trog said. There was a smooth, sharp edge to his voice. He stood tall and straight, his shoulders squared.
Both men laughed. The one on horseback armed a crossbow and aimed the bolt at Trog. “You do not scare us, gypsy. Hand over your gold or we take your lives and the girl as a prize.”
Charlotte’s mouth fell open, her eyes filled with horror. David closed his hand on her wrist. “I won’t let them hurt you. Do you understand?”
She nodded and gulped.
Trog looked around. “I am not inclined to fight with either of you.” He withdrew a small leather pouch from inside his coat and tossed it to the ground. The coins clinked inside. “It’s all we have, so how about you get back on your horse and ride away?”
“From where I sit, you are in no position to haggle for your freedom.” The horseman pranced his horse around Trog once more. “I shall give you to the count of three to discard your weapons and the remainder of your money.”
“Good man, I beg no trouble from you,” Trog said. “I have nothing more to give you. Let us go, take the money, and I promise not to speak a word of this to anyone.”
The man on the ground stooped and gathered the leather coin pouch. He tossed it a few times in the air. “Why, there’s hardly anything in here. Where were you planning on staying in the river town with nary enough to you buy a pint?”
“We live there,” Trog said. “We are returning from a trip to Bybrook.”
“I don’t believe you,” the mounted horseman said, “and you know what I do with those I don’t believe?”
Trog’s sword hissed as it left its scabbard. The sound snaked up David’s spine.
The man on the ground flicked Charlotte’s garment into the air and charged forward.
Two crossbows fired. Two arrows whizzed through the air, both lodging in the man’s chest. The impact pitched the man backward before he crumpled to the ground on his back.
Charlotte wailed.
David clutched her to his chest, his thoughts, his body, numb. Frozen.
Death.
Destruction.
Blood.
The horseman raised his crossbow and fired.
Trog barked as the bolt lodged in his leg. He came around, slicing his blade through the rider’s leg.
Agimesh nocked another arrow.
Whoosh!
The horseman flailed back, an arrow to his heart. He teetered for a moment before he fell to the ground, his body still.
Trog bent over, his palms on his knees. Sweat dripped from his forehead. He grabbed the bolt in his leg, pinched his eyes shut, and wrenched it from muscle and flesh. There was a brief moan followed by a few curse words. He hung there for a moment before limping forward and collecting both horses.
“Agimesh. Tacarr, do something with this trash while I unload their belongings. David, gather both bags, and you and Charlotte come here.” He gimped back to his sword and wiped as much blood as he could from the blade with his shirt before sheathing it.
Agimesh holstered his bow and withdrew Charlotte from David’s arms. He led her to the fringe of the road, shielding her eyes from the carnage. Tacarr secured both the coin pouch and Charlotte’s bag and held them out for David to take. He tried not to look at the man sprawled on the ground as he collected his things, but the man’s empty eyes made him ill.
Tacarr carried the dead man to the edge of the river and tossed him in. A life, only vibrant moments before, was gone. He glanced at Trog and the two creatures, hoping to find some remorse, sadness in their eyes, but there was nothing. How can one kill and feel nothing? How were Trog, Agimesh, and Tacarr any different from the nameless men who had tried to rob them? The thought perplexed him and rooted him to his spot.
A splash sounded behind him. Another dead body discarded, left to rot in the murky waters.
David’s insides jumped as Agimesh placed his hand on David’s back. Warmth, serenity engulfed him, soothing the tattered edges of his mind. “Come,” Agimesh said. “It is time to leave.”
David met up with Charlotte as Trog hobbled from across the road in a new set of clothes, a tourniquet wrapped around his leg.
“That looks pretty bad,” David said. “Maybe you should help him.”
Charlotte snatched her things from David’s hands and shot him a look that could curl a lead pipe. “I don’t think so.”
“But you’re a healer now, Char. You need to practice.”
“No, I don’t.”
“But he saved our butts. It’s the least—”
“Shut up, David.” Her eyes were a conflagration of anger, and sadness, so much so, it was difficult to tell which burned brighter. “It’s not happening,” she finished.
Trog shoved his soiled clothes in his rucksack and tied it to the saddle of one of the horses.
“David, you will ride with me. Charlotte will ride with Tacarr. Agimesh, if you don’t mind, scout ahead. Make sure there are no surprises waiting for us.”
David nodded, his voice taken from his throat. Death had a funny way of doing that, transfiguring spirited creatures into muted, tongueless souls.
They ventured onto the road bathed in twilight. A light evening breeze skipped through the leaves. Nightbirds echoed from some distance away. The horses snorted as they made their way toward Gable.
The road passed under the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves. In time, the road opened to fields and farms. Yellow light filled the windows of small cottages. The Gop River edged its widening mouth closer to the road. Cogs, bathed in torchlight and filled with raucous music and laughter, floated up and down the water.
“How much further, Trog?” David asked, his eyes on Charlotte, who had said little since the attack.
“Not far now.” Fatigue adhered to Trog’s voice.
Was the man made of stone? David yawned and scratched the mark on his chest, now itching from the inside out.
A horse-drawn wagon, weighted with a full load of what looked like wine or ale barrels, bumped and swayed toward them along the riveted road. The driver, cloaked from top to bottom, pulled the cowl so far forward no part of him showed. Though he could not see them, David was certain the driver’s eyes locked on him as they passed. A shiver wiggled out of him. What had Trog gotten them into now?
The putrid smell of beer, rotten fish and sewage wrinkled David’s nose before they topped the small hill, and A-frame buildings came into view behind a massive and sprawling stone wall. Light spilled in a rich orange cream from wide windows. The smell of meat roasting on open fires triggered a grumble in his stomach. Music and bawdy laughter saturated every molecule of air. Through the trees, warehouses and docks crowded along the water’s edge and ships moored between spongy jetties. Two guards clad in leather and chain mail stood guard at the gates, pikes in their hands. Trog pulled up alongside Tacarr.
“I cannot stress enough the importance of staying close to me. Do not wander. Do not speak to anyone, not even a chicken. Understood?”
David sighed. Like I would anyway.
He and Charlotte nodded.
“Good. Let’s go.”
Agimesh led the way beneath the arched gates of Gable. They moved through a series of crowded cobblestone streets, bounded high on one side by warehouses, the other side by a series of bordellos and taverns. At the first cross street they turned left, past doorways marking the shopping district.
They continued uphill, meeting with a busy street bathed in orange lamplight. Laughter and music rang from the inns. In the center square, people gathered around a huge fire pit where a boar roasted over an open flame.
Trog’s horse cantered ahead, and he dismounted outside a three-story stone structure with jutting balconies. David slipped from the saddle and glanced up at the oblong wooden sign. The Inn of the Nesting Owls.
Trog, Agimesh and Tacarr spoke in a huddle for a few moments, after which the two shime departed, taking the horses with them.
“Where are they going?” David asked.
“They will keep watch tonight.”
“Why? Don’t they need to sleep?”
“Not like you and I do,” Trog said. “They can go days without sleep. Come.”
David and Charlotte tagged along behind Trog, entered the crummy joint, and approached the bar.
Charlotte waved her hand in front of her face. “It stinks of sweat and vomit in here.”
David nodded in agreement.
Raucous laughter rang out from a group of men sitting at a table in the middle of the grungy room. Along the walls stood groups of men in drunken stupors, weaving and laughing and falling. Crumbs of food fell from a man’s wiry red beard as he bragged of his hunting adventures. Others shoveled food into their mouths while engaging in boisterous conversations.
A bald, burly man with a beak-like nose and tufts of hair protruding from his ears, stepped behind the counter. A single bushy brow shielded two small eyes, the right of which appeared milky and devoid of sight. He leaned on one arm and said, “What do you need, fella?”
“A room, large enough for myself and two other companions, as well as food and drink for one night.”
The innkeeper’s eyes narrowed as he licked his lips. “One night, you say?”
“Aye.”
The innkeeper rubbed his chin. “That will be twelve dracots.”
Trog leaned forward. “The sign above you says five dracots. I will be more than happy to give you seven for the extra arrangements, but no more.” He pulled his knife and laid it on the counter.
The innkeeper glanced between the blade and Trog, his fingers tapping on the counter. His gaze flicked around the room as if searching for reinforcements. Not finding them, he rubbed his chin, then his nose. “Nine dracots.”
Trog pulled a small leather pouch from the satchel and deposited seven gold dracots on the counter. He wore a look that said the haggling was over. “In which room shall we rest for the night?”
The innkeeper scooped the money and barked, “Garret?”
A tall, lanky boy about David’s age emerged from a room behind the bar, his blond hair straight about his face.
“Take this man and his guests to the third floor and put them in room twelve.” He handed the boy a key.
“Thank you,” Trog said, sheathing his blade. He gathered David and Charlotte to him and followed the boy.
Room twelve was rather small, but it did have three beds, a table, and five wooden chairs. David collapsed on a mattress while Garret lit the lanterns. The boy turned to Trog. “Would you care for something to eat, sir? We have stew, pottage and pork pies.”
“Stew for all. What have you got to drink?”
“We received a batch of coconuts from the Spice Isles three days ago. Outside of that, just the normal ale, tea, and cider.”
“Bring us hot cider, please.” He tossed the boy three dracots. “For your troubles.”
The boy’s eyes lit up. “Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!” The boy ran from the room, pulling the door closed behind him.
With great effort, Trog removed his boots. A painful sigh escaped his lips.
Charlotte sat on the bed in the corner of the room opposite the door, her arms folded across her stomach. She stared at the floor, rocking back and forth.
Guilt stabbed David in the chest. What had he done? He should have protected her from seeing. From hearing. He should have ferried her across the river, to the manor, anywhere so she didn’t have to witness not one, but two vicious deaths. He sat on the bed across from Trog and yanked off his boots and wool socks. His feet were covered in raw blisters, but it didn’t matter. He’d failed Charlotte. He’d failed to protect her.
I’m such an ass!
A knock sounded at the door.
“Who is it?” Trog asked.
Garret answered. David limped to the door and admitted a girl about their age with straw-colored hair carrying a tray of drinks. Garret followed with the stew, his stare stuck on Trog. They placed the food on the table and faced the knight.
Trog stood before the girl. “What is your name, miss?”
“Gertie, sir.”
Trog handed her a handful of coins. “Give four of these to the cook. Divide the rest between you and Garret. Now, go, before you are missed.”
Gertie curtsied and deposited the coins in her apron. “Thank you, sir.”
Garret bowed, and followed the girl. David closed and locked the door behind them.
“What was that all about? Why did you give them all that money?”
“To gain their trust.”
“I don’t think you need to worry about that. Didn’t you see the way they salivated over you? It was like they witnessed you parting the heavens or something.”
Trog snorted. “You have an active imagination, David. Come, let’s eat. Charlotte?”
“I’m not hungry.” She folded in on herself a bit more.
“I doubt that,” Trog said. “Come. You need to keep your strength up.”
“For what? To watch you kill more people?” Charlotte glared at Trog as if he’d grown two horns upon his head.
Trog tore off a chunk of bread and dipped it in his stew. “I did what I had to do.”
“Really?” Charlotte rose to her feet. “You had to kill them? You couldn’t have knocked them unconscious or something?”
Trog swallowed his food. “Do you believe that is what they would have done to you, my lady? Knocked us all unconscious, rummaged through our things, and tootled off with a few coins?”
“It’s not about what they would have done to us. It’s about us being better than them. You didn’t have to kill them. They may not have been good people, but they were someone’s husbands or brothers or sons. Now they’re dead because of you and those two shime murderers.”
“And you and your friend here are still breathing because of me and those two shime murderers. I took a bolt in the leg protecting the two of you, my lady, so do not lecture me on what I should or shouldn’t do to keep you both alive.” He dunked another piece of bread in his stew and popped it in his mouth.
Tears crept down Charlotte’s cheeks. “How can you be so cold? How can you kill people and then sit there and eat your dinner like nothing’s wrong? You’re a monster!” She folded in half. Her sobs ebbed out of her in waves.
“Call me what you wish, my lady, but I will not apologize for saving your life.”
David gestured for Trog to stop and took Charlotte into his arms. “Shh, it’s okay.” He glanced over her shoulder at the knight and mouthed, It’s a long story.
David had no words to soothe her soul, so he said nothing. He simply held her until she could cry no more. Once her tears dried, he tucked stray wisps of hair behind her ear and brought her food to her. “Here.”
Charlotte blew her nose in a cloth napkin and sat across from Trog. “I’m sorry about what I said earlier. I know I must have come off sounding like an ungrateful brat. It’s just—my brother was killed in a war, a stupid, senseless war that wasn’t his to fight.” She turned her eyes downward. “Seeing those men die … it was too much. I saw Daniel’s face on every one of them … lying there bleeding … just empty shells. Was that what it was like for him? Was he alive one minute, and dead the next? Did he suffer? Did he know he was going to die?” Tears began anew. “I just don’t understand how someone can be alive one minute and dead the next. It just doesn’t seem possible.” She wiped her eyes and met Trog’s gaze. “Thank you for saving our lives.”
David stared at his food. “Yeah. Thank you.” He shoved a forkful in his mouth.
Charlotte stood. “Would you like me to take a look at your leg?” She let out a nervous laugh. “I’m not quite sure what to do with it, but if I’m supposed to be a healer, I might as well get started.”
Trog took Charlotte’s hands in his. A lifetime of sorrow, anguish, and understanding peered out from behind his eyes. “Death is never easy, my lady, no matter how many times it visits us in a lifetime. As many times as I’ve seen it, you would think Death and I would be great friends, but in all actuality, I try to avoid it as often as I can. You have not seen the last of Death, my lady, but I can promise you this. As long as I live and breathe, I will not allow it to take those in my care, not without a fight. Should death seek you or David again, I will not hesitate to provide it a substitute, even if the substitute is my life. Understand?”
Charlotte nodded.
Trog’s words swelled inside of David. This man who barely knew them had just sworn his life to them. The thought blew him away.
“Good.” Trog released her hand. “Now, eat.” A wide smile creased his face. “My leg won’t fall off while I’m waiting for you to fill your belly.”