Chapter Three #2
“Shut up,” he muttered to himself, dismounting with a groan.
Only a few horses grazed in the nearby field, the grass short and dry, but not burned.
The smoke on the orange-tinged horizon lingered, but remained in the distance toward the east now.
Perhaps the rain would come soon and put an end to it as the cleric had said.
A rhythmic scraping echoed from the barn, setting his nerves even more on edge. Leading Dybri, he unsheathed his sword.
Inside the barn, a girl of about fifteen years swept a stall, the brittle straw high-pitched as it scratched across the stone. “You there!” Cador called.
She spun, the broom clattering to the stone floor. Her pale eyes were wide, dark red hair pulled back from a round, freckled face. Her trousers and tunic were dusty, but in good condition. “Me?”
Her squeak made him think of Jem on their wedding night, cowering at the prospect of fucking. The memory made him ache. “Is Jem here?” He had to protect him and keep him safe. “Prince Jowan, I mean.”
His heart sank as she frowned. “No, sir. I haven’t seen Prince Jowan.”
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. The urge to shout remained, but he forced a breath. Unleashing his impotent fury on this girl would solve nothing. Manners. Mainlanders liked manners.
“Sorry to startle you. I’m Cador of Ergh.”
She nodded seriously. “Oh, yes. I remember.”
In the ensuing silence, he asked, “What’s your name?”
“Tamsyn.” Her eyes flicked between his face and something else.
Cador realized he was still holding his sword and quickly sheathed it. He petted Dybri and gave the girl a smile. “Did you see my friend Jory? His hair is like yours. Lighter and messier, though.”
She smiled tentatively. “Yes. He and his horse rested before continuing. He said he was going to the castle in Neuvella. It’s where the queen and her family live.”
That was one damn thing going to plan, at least. “Yes, he’s bringing word of our unexpected arrival. Speaking of which, can you inform the clerics I’m here?”
“Well, the thing is… They’re gone. Most of them, at least.”
“Gone? Where the fuck did they go?” Whatshername on the trail hadn’t mentioned it.
Eyebrows high, Tamsyn gasped softly. “I, I don’t know.”
Cursing silently this time, he asked, “Do they often travel?”
“Not often, sir. Our exalted chief cleric, Ysella, does journey to the corners of Onan from time to time to meet with royalty. She left suddenly—a few days ago. You’ll remember her, of course. She performed your wedding ceremony.”
Yes, he fucking remembered the stooped, wrinkled woman who wouldn’t shut up. He traced the raised edges of the brand on his palm with his middle finger. “And she took other clerics with her?”
Tamsyn nodded. “Only a few have stayed behind. And—”
“Take care of Dybri.” He spun on his heel and marched out of the stable.
In the doorway, he remembered to add his thanks before continuing to the main compound.
It was deserted, and Cador didn’t like it.
Not that he missed the clerics, but there had been so many people in the spring.
He supposed it had also been a peace summit with many visitors, but the emptiness put him on edge.
When he entered a blissfully shaded courtyard, he discovered a gray-robed cleric seated on the side of a babbling fountain with his feet in the water. The fountain seemed a waste in the drought, although Cador had to admit it was tempting to dunk his head.
The cleric’s eyes were closed, and he hadn’t seemed to notice Cador’s arrival.
He was fit, with tawny hair and skin, the gentle waves of his short hair brushing the tips of his ears.
He was blandly pretty in that common mainland way.
Was he praying? It looked more like napping. Cador cleared his throat impatiently.
The man didn’t open his eyes. “Yes?”
“Where the fuck did all the other clerics go?”
Jolting, he opened his brown eyes and leapt up all at once. Now he was standing in the fountain staring at Cador. He quickly hopped out and slid on the leather sandals the clerics seemed to favor, the hem of his robe dripping. He gaped at Cador a bit more, his brow furrowing.
“I— you —you’re here?”
Cador held his hands out to his sides. “Indeed! Here I am.” He imagined Jem cringing at his rudeness and choked down his irritation. They were wasting time. He had to find Jem. “Cador, son of the chieftain.” The new heir, whether I like it or not.
“Yes, I recall.” The cleric peered beyond him. “Where is your husband?”
“I don’t know. He—”
“What have you done to him?” The accusation rang out around the courtyard, several birds taking flight from the roof in a flap of wings.
Who the fuck did this daydreaming cleric think he was? Cador swelled with anger that was quickly consumed by guilt. His face heated.
The cleric narrowed his gaze. “Tell me what’s become of him.”
“I don’t know. That’s the point. We were separated on the way here from the coast.”
“How?” The cleric still eyed him suspiciously.
“It doesn’t fucking matter! You must know the area. Organize a search party.”
The man seemed at a loss. “Er, yes.” He shook his head. “Forgive me. I was lost in prayer and not expecting anyone. Let alone a hunter of Ergh.”
“Where are the rest of your clerics? The girl didn’t know.” He nodded in the vague direction of the stable, although given the identical long, low buildings and snaking pathways, he might have been turned around.
“Some have gone to Neuvella and the rest are traveling over Onan to help calm the people. Unrest is simmering. This drought and the wildfires—fear is growing that we have angered the gods.”
“Well, the gods are fickle bastards,” Cador muttered. The cleric had probably heard worse in his time. “Now we have to find J—Prince Jowan.”
The cleric nodded solemnly. “Indeed we must. Prince Jowan must not be harmed.”
Wasting no time, Cador refilled his flask and fit the iron stopper tightly before returning to the stable. At least he could agree with a cleric about something.