54. Ragnar
54
Ragnar sat in the corner of the dingy inn. He puffed on his pipe, nursing his flagon of ale. He had purposefully slumped in the seat, eyes unfocused and dazed, as though he were already filled with drink, but his mind followed every conversation within reach. That afternoon, he had gone from inn to inn, soaking up the gossip that ran rampant and unchecked away from the ears of the city guard.
It was just his luck to be the most inconspicuous of them all. Brand, the giant Aerian, would stick out, as would Erika with her unusual attire. Then there was Aedon and his well-known reputation. To the humans and elves of Tournai, one dwarf was much like another. Ragnar played to it as much as he could with a generic cloak and none of his usual beard embellishments or hints to his identity.
Wrapped in that dark cloak, as anonymous as the rest of the patrons, he listened for any mention of Harper. He did not hear her name, but the theft of a secret, most magical treasure and the ensuing capture of the thief could be no coincidence. It’s got to be her, he thought, his heart sinking the more he heard. They were too late.
It was almost impossible to walk as though he were drunk, bumbling and stumbling from the city to return to the others. He longed to run, but it would be too suspicious, so he endured the laughs and jeers of the guards as they taunted him and slammed the gate shut so quickly behind him it stung his backside. He ambled into the dark countryside away from the city. Only when he was away from the lights of the towering walls did he break into a jog, savouring deep breaths of the pure air. Time was of the essence. It did not take long to find them tucked up in a vacant shepherd’s hut, and even less to relay the day’s events.
“We’re too late,” Aedon said, adding to Ragnar’s own trepidation.
“Aye,” he replied, slumping down beside the paltry fire.
“She is probably in captivity as we speak.”
Erika pursed her lips. “She will be suffering the worst treatment, especially if they have seen the mark on her bracelet.”
“And whose fault is that?” Aedon snapped. “You’re the reason this blew up, that she is where she is. If you hadn’t been so high and damnably mighty, she wouldn’t be in such danger.”
Erika did not return his scowl, frowning at the ground. Ragnar knew she believed Aedon was right, though she would not admit it.
Brand ruffled his wings, making the shadows dance across the half-fallen walls. “We are all to blame. We all could have managed this better.”
Aedon ruffled his hair. “We have to rescue her somehow. I can’t bear to think what they must be doing to her, how much she’s suffering at their hands.” He shook his head and shuddered. “I know it seems futile, but it’s our fault she’s in there. Damn the stone, but we cannot abandon her. She needs us even more now.”
“Of course,” said Ragnar. “But where can we find her? How? Will she have even made it to the castle? Tournai is so big, it will be like searching for a needle in a haystack.”
Aedon rubbed his chin, deep in thought. He slowly turned to Ragnar. “Please tell me you did not throw away her knife.”
Ragnar raised an eyebrow. “It’s in my pack. Why?” He couldn’t bear to, truth be told, even though it was most certainly not worth salvaging. He rummaged for it and held it out to Aedon. The handle was burnt and cracked, and the blade dulled.
Aedon’s face split into a huge grin, and he clapped Ragnar on the shoulder, surprising him. “Divining. We can find her with it. Like calls to like. It will lead us right to her.”
“How certain are you?” asked Brand.
“There’s only one way to find out.” Aedon took the knife from him and held it out across both palms.