CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN ISI #2
“Who?” Trew growled, but if any one of us knew, they wouldn’t be sharing.
The blood drained from my face. “All of it?”
“Every scrap.” Naveah kicked a bag of moldy meat. “Someone did this.”
A person who wanted us to fail.
I sank onto a nearby boulder, the weight of betrayal settling in my chest. “We can’t turn back.”
“We can’t continue without food,” Coralee said. “We’ll be transporting a large group of people to Syllavar and some of them could be ill and weak. If we stop, we’ll risk discovery.”
“There’s a village marked on the map an hours’ walk east of here,” Trew said.
“Coralee and Maddox will forage for food in the woods while Malcolm remains with the dragons. Isi and I will purchase what we need.” Trew’s tone brooked no argument.
“We’ll go without sleep to make sure we have food.
We either adapt or we’re going to fail. There is no other option. ”
A short time later, Trew and I strode toward the town, magicked to look like traveling merchants, though our disguises wouldn’t last for long. Solid disguises like transforming our friends into Skathes took more time than we had.
Come with, Pherin cried out, zipping after me. Gavelle soared overhead, scouting already.
“Only until we’re outside the village,” I told her. “We’ll have to leave you when we go into town. Companions would be too recognizable this close to Syllavar.”
Want to protect.
“You will protect,” I said. “By staying hidden. If something goes wrong, you need to warn the others.”
I swore she grumbled as she flew to catch up to Gavelle.
The path wound through sparse woodland, mostly pine and oak with undergrowth thin enough to walk through easily. Our footsteps crunched on fallen leaves, the only sound in the early morning stillness.
“You realize this might be exactly what the traitor wanted,” Trew said as we crested a small rise. “Separating us from the group will make it easier for them to attack us or the others.”
“I figured that.” I adjusted my pack straps and tapped the hilts of the throwing knives concealed beneath my fake cloak. “But as you said, we don’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice, Minx. The question is whether we can live with the consequences of the one we’re making now.”
His words carried weight beyond our current situation. I glanced at him, taking in the way he’d altered his posture to seem less commanding, the deliberate roughening of his speech to sound like a common traveler instead of a king.
“Are you sure you don’t have any regrets about choosing to help Caldrith’s condemned instead of focusing on Syllavar’s defenses?” I asked. “I’ll understand if you want to back out now.”
He was quiet for several steps. When he answered, his voice held no trace of doubt. “The only regret I’d have is if we’d stayed safe while innocent people died for the crime of breathing magic into the world.”
The village appeared as we rounded a bend in the path, exactly as marked on our map. Single-story stone buildings clustered around a central square, their slate roofs gleaming in the morning light. Smoke rose from several chimneys, and I caught the scent of baking bread on the breeze.
We left our companions on the edge of the forest and walked through town, taking in the small shops and vegetable gardens growing behind some of the buildings.
A dirt road intersected the path at the village center, and a two-story inn stood on one corner, its wooden sign creaking in the wind. The Sleeping Maiden, it said, with a woman lying supine on grass beneath the scrolling letters.
The inn’s common room bustled with morning activity. Farmers and merchants filled rough wooden tables, their conversation creating a steady hum that paused when we entered. Every eye turned toward us with the sharp assessment of small-town folk evaluating strangers.
The woman behind the bar in the back was broad-shouldered and practical-looking, her graying hair secured in a simple bun at her nape. She looked us over with the same measuring stare as her customers.
“Can I help you?” she asked as we approached.
“We need to purchase food for our group,” Trew said, his accent shifting subtly toward the rural dialect of southern Caldrith. “Our friends are waiting outside town. We’re traveling north on business.”
The woman studied our faces. I kept my expression neutral, fighting the urge to fidget under her scrutiny. Did she doubt our story or was she simply being cautious with strangers?
“How many?” she finally barked out.
“Ten,” Trew said, making up the number. “We’re traveling in a group for protection.” Turning, he spit on the floor. “Damn rebels.”
She nodded slowly, but her gaze remained sharp. “I can put together a sack. It’ll cost you, though. Times are lean, and we don’t have much to spare.”
Trew jingled the coin purse tied to his belt. “We’ll gladly pay a fair price for good food.”
“Sit yourselves down, then. I’ll see what I can manage.”
We took a table near the back, positioning ourselves where we could watch both the door and the rest of the room. The other patrons had returned to their conversations, but I caught more than one sideways glance in our direction.
“They’re nervous,” I said, keeping my voice low.
“Can you blame them?” Trew’s fingers drummed on the scarred wooden table. “Unsettled times make people suspicious of strangers.”
I caught fragments of their conversations, mentioning supply shortages, concerns about safety on the roads, and whispered mentions of “what was soon coming.”
They were either talking about the Day of Mercy or an army about to march past their town.
The innkeeper returned with a canvas sack, setting it on our table. “That’s the best I can do. Bread, smoked meat, cheese, and apples.” She named a reasonable price.
Trew counted out coins in his palm. “Thank you kindly. You’ve been most helpful.”
The woman pocketed the money but didn’t move away from our table. “Might I ask what business takes you north? The roads aren’t safe for anyone these days.”
“Trade negotiations,” I said. “Mundane but necessary.”
“Safe travels then.”
We left the inn, the sack of supplies slung over Trew’s shoulder. Stares burned into my back as we walked away, and I didn’t look over my shoulder until we’d cleared the village square.
When I finally did, the woman stood in the inn’s doorway, watching our retreat with too much attention for traveling merchants buying food.
“We need to get back quickly,” I said once we’d rounded a bend in the road.
“She’s suspicious, but that’s not unusual. I doubt they see a stranger here more than once a year. The question is whether she’ll talk about it to anyone important.”
“At least the odds are good no one important will pass through this town soon.”
We walked faster, urgency driving us back toward the hidden valley and the others. The delay had cost us precious sleep and time we couldn’t afford, but the thought of twenty-three prisoners counting down their final days made every step feel inadequate.
Behind us, a whooshing sound cut through the morning air.
I’d started to turn when something struck the back of my head.
My vision exploded into stars and darkness.