Firebrand

The server brought squares of gingerbread slathered in clotted cream out to them, and Karigan nearly forgot the irritation as she dug in. They listened to Barris as he played mostly jaunty tunes. When he paused for a break, Estral crossed the room to intercept him and Karigan watched, but could not hear their lively exchange.

“You are getting a good look at everyday Sacoridians in an ordinary setting,” Karigan told Enver. “What do you think?”

“Illuminating,” he replied. “Especially the music. I wish to learn it.”

Karigan smiled at the thought of an Eletian singing a song that was all about praising the attributes of common ale.

Estral brought Barris over for introductions.

“I have heard a fair bit about you, Sir Karigan,” he said, and then smiled, “including your days as a student in Selium. It is an honor.”

“Thank you,” Karigan murmured. It was a mixed compliment at best, considering the notoriety of her school years.

Barris chuckled at her discomfiture. He was a dark-bearded fellow with a wide girth, and wore nothing to openly indicate he was a master minstrel of Selium. He turned to Enver. “And an honor to meet you, sir.” Very softly he added, “One does not see Eletians in this benighted town.”

“I should like to learn your music one day,” Enver said. “It is quite entertaining.”

Barris looked tickled. “I would be happy to teach you, but Estral says you are not staying long.”

“No,” Karigan said, “we are not.”

“Things here are not quite as bad for the king’s folk as they used to be,” Barris said, “but I don’t blame you.”

“Have a seat,” Estral told him. “Barris says my father did travel through here several months ago.”

“It was a brief meeting,” Barris warned her, “and he never came back through that I’m aware of.”

“Did he say where he was going?”

“He talked about a lumber camp north of here. There are a number of those, of course.” Barris grimaced. “I hate to tell you this, but while he wouldn’t say exactly what his aims were, I’m under the impression he was trying to get near the Lone Forest to see what Second Empire was up to. It’s rumored there is a base up that way.”

Rumored? Karigan thought. More than rumored. Captain Mapstone had ensured she knew the latest intelligence on Second Empire’s positions. A glance at Estral showed how disturbed she was by this information.

“The Lone Forest was once united with this forest you call the Green Cloak,” Enver said.

And was once the northern limit of the lands of the Sacor Clans, Karigan thought. Given that it was likely under Second Empire’s control, they would be avoiding that region as if it were a plague town.

As Barris and Estral continued to discuss Lord Fiori’s whereabouts and news of Selium, Karigan found herself distracted once again by the irritation. It was like stirrup leathers chafing her calves when she wasn’t wearing boots. And there were the whispers, and now a cool touch on the back of her hand. Perhaps it was just an air current, but she knew better.

The voices of the inn’s patrons, the clink of dishware, the laughter, and hurrying steps of servers, all washed away to a dull murmur and Karigan stood. Estral and Barris, deep into their discussion, did not pay her attention, but she was aware of Enver’s gaze on her.

She observed a flicker of filmy movement by the bottom of the staircase that led to the inn’s rooms above. Without another thought, she headed for the stairs, disregarding the displeasure of those she bumped into.

“Watch it, ye bloody Greenie.”

She barely perceived their words. They did not touch her. Nor did she see the inn’s watchful enforcer leave his post by the wall to follow her.

BLACK ARROWS

Karigan climbed the stairs to the inn’s upper level as though she knew where it was she needed to go. Had to go. At the landing, the compulsion led her unerringly down the hall past the doors of guest rooms. She rounded a corner into another hall of doors, carried along as though she were a leaf borne upon the currents of a strong-flowing stream.

A transparent figure walked through one of the doors. Karigan strode to it and tried the knob, but it was locked. Driven by an impulse that was not her own, she kicked at the door until wood splintered in the frame and then used her shoulder to force it open. That this was not acceptable behavior for a representative of the king was not foremost in her mind.

The room was unkempt, with blankets strewn about the bed and clothes piled on the floor. It smelled stale. An entire collection of weapons hung on the walls—knives, cudgels, a throwing ax, and even a shortsword.

“Here now, what ya doin’?” a man bellowed from behind her.

She turned and saw the enforcer. She took in, without emotion, the knife he carried, and promptly dismissed his existence. She moved across the room as though in a dream, pulled toward that which irritated her. She felt the presence of Westrion hovering, his great wings beating frigid downdrafts from the depths of the heavens.

“Get outta my room!”

She turned once more to face the man. He blanched and backed off.

“What the hells are you?” he whispered.

She gazed past him and sensed another presence in the shadows of the corridor, the Eletian, her witness.

The whispering drew her to one of the walls where a trophy of sorts was displayed, two arrows, each black and inscribed with dark ruins. One was splintered not quite in half. They burned in her vision. She removed them from their mount. They were loathsome to the touch, stung her hand, sought flesh and spirit. The arrowheads were encrusted with old blood.