CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR #2
Handing over a small stack of nanny farthings, Deckard thanked the smith. Then he relayed the explanation to Ethenn as they stepped out into the rain.
“Do we go to the docks then?” Ethenn asked.
“I suppose,” Deckard said with a sigh, reverting to his Ephrian elocution. “Though I have a feeling we’re going to get the same answer from the dockworker. If they were taken by a group as large as you suspect, I can’t imagine they’d do it out in the open.”
“What if they ambushed them before they got to the docks?” Ethenn said as they neared the tavern once more. “Could be—”
The hunter stopped in his tracks, frowning.
Deckard paused. “What is it?”
Eyes on the tavern, Ethenn sniffed as a cold breeze cut through the rain. Then he shook his head. “It’s nothing,” he said. “We should go to the docks.”
Though Deckard stared at the tavern for a lingering second, he followed Ethenn down the street.
The rain ran over the shoulders of their wool cloaks, turning the dirt to mud under their boots.
His anxiety was beginning to rise, his fear that Evylin’s captors were getting away while he searched in vain.
Suddenly, Ethenn grabbed Deckard’s arm and pulled him down an alleyway.
“Loxley, what—?”
Ethenn shushed him, then surveyed the narrow passage. “All right,” he whispered once his inspection was complete, “we’re safe. I found them.”
Deckard stared at him, baffled. “What?”
Ethenn tossed his hand in the direction of the town center. “They’re in the tavern. There must have been a scuffle because . . . Well, listen, you know how I said I have this hunter’s intuition?”
“Yes,” Deckard said, narrowing his eyes.
With a grimace, Ethenn shrugged. “That wasn’t true,” he admitted, then scratched the back of his head through his hood. “I kind of . . . caught Evie’s scent.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“I know, it’s strange,” Ethenn said, obviously uncomfortable.
“But it’s something I learned over the years.
You can kind of smell your quarry, and it helps lead you to them.
And—well, I know the scent of Evie’s sweat from all the times we’ve trained together.
When the rain was about to start, the wind picked up, and I caught her scent coming from the smithy.
When we just passed the tavern, I caught it again, but stronger. ”
Despite the oddity of the situation, Deckard scanned the young man with interest. “That’s the most bizarre thing I’ve ever heard,” he remarked. “You’re sure she’s there?”
Ethenn hesitated but nodded. “I think we should get a better look at the place,” he said and pointed up. “We’ll climb onto the roof of this building and see what we can learn.”
“I think that’s a good idea.”
With the assistance of some wooden crates in the alley, they made their way onto the slate roof. They stayed low, crawling to the ridge. The clay tiles were slick under their feet, but the slant wasn’t steep, and they easily sprawled across the wet rooftop.
Two buildings away, they surveyed the side and back of the tavern. Though it stood two stories, it wasn’t a large establishment. Often, taverns in Ephria doubled as inns in villages as small as this one. Perhaps Evylin and Auden were being held captive in a room on the second floor.
A separate alley wound behind the tavern, and two men stood guard by the back door. Their presence confirmed Ethenn’s deduction. There would be no reason to guard the back door of a tavern—unless you had something to protect.
“What do you think the chances are that those are the only guards?” Ethenn said cynically.
Deckard surveyed the shuttered and darkened windows of the second floor. “I’d say the odds aren’t in our favor.”
“I’ll get a better look,” Ethenn said, rising on his hands to shift away.
Deckard grabbed his arm. “It’s not safe.”
“I may not be as good at sneaking around as Raff, but I’m a hunter,” he noted. “Stealthy observation is part of the job.”
Reluctantly, Deckard nodded. This was why he’d brought the lad. “I’ll wait here.”
With that, Ethenn scampered easily across the tiles to the building on their right. Deckard watched nervously as the young man stopped, surveyed, and moved again until he dropped out of sight. He tried to catch a glimpse of him on the ground but didn’t see so much as a flick of his dark cloak.
Turning back to the tavern, Deckard scrutinized every inch of the building. He could make out the rough outline of movement on the bottom floor. A few denizens entered and exited through the front. Aside from the guards at the back, nothing seemed amiss.
After the better part of an hour, Ethenn returned, almost soundlessly dropping back into his place beside Deckard.
“There’s no way for us to sneak in,” he said ruefully.
“The only entrances are the front and back doors or those windows up top. But with them shuttered and so high off the ground, our only chance to reach them would be through the back alley, but those guards will prevent that from happening.”
“Could we distract them?” Deckard asked, then added reluctantly, “Or take them down?”
Ethenn considered it. “Possibly,” he admitted.
“But I don’t think it would do us much good.
From what I can tell, there isn’t anything to climb on in the alleyway, and the back door isn’t hidden from the rest of the main floor’s view.
Even if we could sneak in, there’s a good chance we’d only find ourselves face-to-face with more guards. ”
“Hm.” Deckard gave the building one final inspection. “So we won’t be able to get in unseen?”
“I don’t think so.”
Pressing a hand to his temple, Deckard resigned himself to the one solution he had.
A heaviness had settled over his heart in the last hour, spurring a dark mood.
This wasn’t how the day was supposed to go.
Evylin was supposed to come to Dunneshead, have an enjoyable break from the monotony of the road and her overwhelming depression, and return safe and sound.
Instead, he lay hunched on a rooftop, seeking a way to rescue her.
“All right,” Deckard said with renewed determination. Whatever else happened, he would save his wife. “We’ve no choice but to go in directly.”
Ethenn turned to him in surprise, dark eyes wide. “You mean, go through the front door?”
Deckard began to back off the roof. “That’s precisely what I mean.”
Ethenn followed. “That’s a terrible idea!” he exclaimed in a whisper. “They’ll know we’re coming.”
They dropped into the alleyway once more. “Not if they think we’re patrons,” Deckard said. “We’ll order a drink and blend in, waiting for our opportunity.”
“Sir,” Ethenn said, his voice thick with agitation, “there have to be at least a dozen men in there. If they could take down Evie and Auden, don’t you think we’re a little out of our depth?”
Deckard set a hand on his shoulder and smiled. “Never underestimate what a man is willing to do to get his wife back, Loxley,” he said. “They’re after money. I’m after something I’d die for.”
The young man must have seen the violent resolve in Deckard’s stare because his chin lifted with confidence. “And you’re a Mage,” he noted. “I’d wager none of them will be ready for that.”
For the first time, Deckard felt a thrill at the mention of his magic, the Night Relic warming against his skin.
Yes, he was a Mage. He might still be in training, but he did not doubt that his power would respond readily in defense of Evylin, regardless of whether he had no true understanding of it yet.
They walked back onto the street, casually making their way to the tavern. A pleasant bell chimed as they pushed through the door. The soft strum of a mandolin came from the bard in the corner. Some patrons looked up at their arrival, turning back to their drinks after a few moments of inspection.
Deckard gave a cursory glance at the space, counting seven customers, the musician, and the barkeep.
He drew back his hood as he moved to the bar and took a seat.
The barkeep, a stout woman with blonde braids and a stained apron, stepped closer.
“What’ll yeh have?” she asked in a husky Waulden cadence.
Assuming his fake accent, Deckard gave her a teasing grin. “What’ve you got?”
She returned the smile, adopting a more sultry stance. “Ale,” she said. “Blonde, brown, or red?”
“Brown,” Deckard said.
“Red,” Ethenn mumbled, attempting to cover his Ephrian inflection.
The woman went about her service, giving Deckard a wink as she set a large tankard in front of him. He tipped her generously to keep up the ruse.
Two men at the back of the tavern waved for the barkeep’s attention, and she drifted away.
Ethenn tapped the handle of his tankard worriedly. “Are you sure we should drink?” he asked quietly.
“Drink or not,” Deckard replied under his breath in his normal tone. “I’m not leaving without her.”
Ethenn sighed, lifting his ale. “It’s the leaving part I’m worried about.”
Laughter from a group at the center of the room caught Deckard’s attention. He kept his eyes forward, avoiding notice. He hated to place his back to the room but settled for listening as the men spoke.
“I dunno, Trover,” one man said with a slight slur. “You seemed to enjoy that second hit more than the average blighter.”
A grunt sounded, presumably from Trover. “It felt a’right,” he said, voice like the rusty sign out front. “Was’n so much bringing that hilt down on her lovely brow as it was the feel of her body pressed ag’nst me. Never felt a woman so lean and supple.”
Ethenn choked on his ale.
Deckard clenched his jaw, focusing on the words and not the anger rising within him. He had no way to know if these men were discussing Evylin. But to speak of any woman like that . . . Deckard’s knuckles grew white on his tankard’s handle.
The barkeep returned, checking on them before stepping into the back. The two other patrons she’d attended rose and clomped through the tavern, the bell above the door clattering as they exited.