Chapter 14 Fletcher’s Passage
FLETCHER’S PASSAGE
The caravan wheels ground to a halt in a frost-kissed pasture at the edge of town.
Crisp evening air carried the mingled aromas of forge-fire and hearth-smoke, weaving through the orange-gold tapestry of sunset.
The scent of woodsmoke danced with hints of cardamom and roasting meat, drawing an involuntary growl from Lark’s stomach as she descended from the wagon, her boots crunching against the frost-hardened grass.
“Welcome to Fletcher’s Passage, our stop until morning,” Ezra announced.
“You’re welcome to have your meal here at the wagons as we have enough food, but I, for one, will be partaking in the town’s offerings.
Fletcher’s Passage has the best food fair, entertainment, and trade this side of Astral City.
We’ve been out on the road for five days.
Maybe some of you can wait a few more before a meal out, but not me.
Life’s too short not to enjoy the little gems like this town.
For any who’d like to come along, I’ll be at the Bear’s Tooth Tavern.
” He adjusted his belt before setting off toward the town center, his footsteps sure and purposeful.
“Hey, Lark,” Hardin said, his voice carrying a note of hopeful invitation. “Do you want to head into town and get a bite? I’m going to see if performing at the tavern will pay for my food and drink. I wouldn’t mind doing a few extra songs to pay your way.”
“That’s kind, but there’s something I want to check out before I go in for the evening. Maybe I’ll catch up with everyone after,” she replied, her mind already racing with thoughts of the dragon’s proximity.
Despite their shared journey from Stormwatch, the easy familiarity Hardin displayed remained unreciprocated, a one-way window into friendship. Besides, the possibility of a dragon’s presence pushed all thoughts of comfort aside.
“Suit yourself,” Hardin said, slinging his lute across his back before hurrying to catch Ezra.
Lark shouldered her pack, its familiar weight a comfort as she diverted from the stream of travelers heading toward the main thoroughfare. Her pendant stirred with warmth. Nix materialized in a shower of sparks, her tiny form glowing against the deepening twilight.
The darkening streets wound before Lark as she made her way along the edge of town, each step carrying her farther from the comforting bustle of the caravan. The cobblestones beneath her feet had been worn smooth by steady travel through the area.
“Where are you going?” Nix asked with the innocence of a child. Though Lark now knew the innocence was feigned.
“I think that dragon has been following us since before Stormwatch.” Lark said. “I thought I saw it flying overhead that first day. Then I think it hauled those bearded men off. Now, we’ve seen tracks following the caravan.”
“Why is the dragon following you of all people?” Nix asked, assuming her characteristic pose of contemplation, tiny fiery fingers pressed against her red chin.
Lark frowned, “Isn’t it obvious?”
“Maybe it is to you, but fae don’t think the same way as you humans.”
“The dragon’s following us because I have the Hyalite,” Lark said.
“And now you’re going out to meet it, alone?” Nix gasped.
Once Lark rounded the final corner, she took in a sight that caused her steps to falter.
Near the towering oak that bore the town sign, a group of broad-shouldered figures stood in hushed consultation.
Their gray travel cloaks hung heavy around their imposing frames.
They appeared to be encrusted with the dust of a long journey.
One gestured toward a map held by his companion.
His movement revealed a broadsword, its worn hilt emerging through the gap in his cloak.
As Lark froze, Nix noticed them, too. She darted toward the group, vanishing in a burst of sparks as one of them lifted his head.
The sight of his blue skin, stark against the twilight, sent a jolt through Lark’s core.
Yellow eyes, sharp as a predator’s, fixed upon her position.
Two ivory tusks curved up from his lower lip, their points gleaming like pale daggers against the blue flesh.
Are they orcs? Her question lingered as the others turned to face her, moving like seasoned warriors despite their massive frames.
Something primitive and instinctive raised alarms in Lark’s mind.
She retreated into the street, her boots silent against the stones.
When she dared to peer around the corner of the nearest home, the group of four had vanished from their position by the sign.
They moved away toward the west, their massive bodies melting into the shadows.
Nix burst back into view beside her in a shower of sparks that momentarily pierced the gloom. One of the towering Morsythians halted mid-stride and turned. His yellow eyes swept the town, piercing through shadow and stone alike before he continued on with his companions.
“Why did you fly toward them and disappear?” Lark demanded.
“Those are Morsythians!” Nix said breathlessly.
“They can see me. I was trying to act like a normal fire fae, drawn by something before disappearing. If I hadn’t, they might’ve known we were together.
It’s not normal to see them down here. I disappeared because I felt one of them trying to draw me in. ”
“Draw you in? People can do that? Morsythians, too?” The concept made her shudder independent of the cool evening air.
“The right person, yes. You can,” Nix replied, her light dimming slightly as if the very memory of the sensation drained her energy.
“Were they trying to harm you?” Lark asked, feeling protective, though what protection she could offer a being from another realm, she wasn’t sure.
“I don’t know, but I’m glad they turned around. I get a bad feeling from them.”
“Morsythians,” Lark breathed, the word tasting of half-forgotten memories on her tongue. These blue-skinned orcs were much more imposing than the bulky green orcs she’d learned were more common around Nordraven and Lamar. The Morsythian orc’s predatory gaze was unsettling.
“That’s what they are,” Nix confirmed, her glow strengthening with urgency. “Come on, let’s go find the others. I don’t think we should be out here alone. Especially if a dragon is nearby, too.”
Reluctantly, Lark turned back toward the town center, her mind churning as she tried to grasp her memories of the Morsythians.
A river-borne breeze cut through the main thoroughfare, carrying with a reminder that they had traveled north.
Above, the first moon hung like a copper coin in the evening sky, while its siblings, the second and third moons, painted the horizon in shades of silver and gold.
The sudden crack of a door slamming jolted her from her reverie, its frame rattling with the force.
Lark tensed, her fingers tightened on her pack as she whirled around.
A figure was moving slowly and deliberately behind her.
Whoever it was maintained their distance, keeping a dark gray hood drawn up like a shroud.
When the figure realized she had noticed him or her, the person froze, the stranger’s face masked by the hood.
Her heart thundered against her ribs as she hastened toward the nearest building.
Golden light spilled from the Bear’s Tooth Tavern, warm and inviting as the wooden sign creaked gently in the breeze.
Inside, a cacophony of voices and laughter rose becoming a shield against the night’s growing threats.
Hardin’s clear tenor cut through the din, his song weaving a spell of its own, offering a lifeline in an increasingly uncertain evening.
The heavy wooden door yielded, and the warmth of the light and thunderous applause washed over her. To her right, Hardin stood on the raised landing as if it were his stage, his grin as bright as polished silver as he executed an elaborate bow, fingers lovingly curved around his lute’s worn neck.
The space between them bloomed with life.
The round tables were like islands in a sea of humanity, each one a microcosm of Fletcher’s Passage itself.
Local townsfolk rubbed shoulders with weathered travelers and familiar faces from Ezra’s caravan.
Their collective energy charged the air.
From behind the swinging saloon doors, a cloud of aromas wafted forth: spiced meats crackling over charcoal and vegetables kissed by flame until their edges blackened and sweetened.
Each swing of the doors released a fresh wave of mouth-watering smells, the servers’ movements acting as a bellows to spread the intoxicating fragrance throughout the room.
To watch the service from the doorway was like attending a choreographed dance.
Barmaids’ skirts swirled and waiters wove through the crowd.
To Lark’s left, the bar stretched like a fallen tree, its surface polished to a mirror sheen by countless elbows and spilt ales.
Amber light refracted off the forest of bottles behind the bar.
Lark had barely shifted her weight toward an empty table when a young woman materialized before her, brown hair tamed into a practical ponytail.
She moved with the efficiency of someone who had mastered the tavern’s battlefield.
Silver utensils appeared from her apron as she asked, “Which dinner will you be having tonight, pork or chicken?”
“Chicken?” The word emerged from Lark’s lips with the hesitancy of someone unused to such simple choices.
“Are you okay with spice?”
Lark’s shrug spoke volumes in its uncertainty.
“The meal comes with risotto, charred veggies, and your choice of ale or mead,” She recited, clearly having said this more than a few times already this evening.
“I’ll have water,” Lark replied.
“Are you paying now or later?”
Lark’s fingers searched her empty pockets, her eyes drawn to Hardin on his landing. “He’ll be paying for me tonight,” she said, gesturing toward the bard.