Chapter 17 In Plain Sight #2
“Maybe, or maybe he’s going into Astral City. He mentioned something about having to resupply.”
“Do you believe he really worked with Tel Roan?” Lark asked, watching him keep his steady pace about a hundred yards off theirs.
“Ezra recognized him. So, yes, he was Tel Roan’s Squire.
Who knows how useful being a Squire for a Paragon is, though.
Usually, Squires are accepted into the training academies the Keeps sponsor after a year or two of experience.
Sometimes they take soldiers who are exceptionally skilled, have potential for using magic, and don’t have strong desires to lead a large army.
When Squires don’t make it in after a few years, they tend to go into another branch of the military to advance their careers.
I’ve never heard of anyone squiring for a Paragon for over ten years, although he is half-elf.
Since Lamar is a human-dominant kingdom, they tend to frown on anyone without pure bloodlines.
I’ve never understood why,” Hardin continued, chewing his lip in thought.
With a shrug, he said, “Maybe Venrick will camp near us tonight. Last night I told him he might be able to provide some answers for you.”
“You talked about me to him?” Lark said, snapping her attention to Hardin.
“Well, yes.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I didn’t tell him much. He was the one who wanted to know about you.”
“He asked about me?”
Hardin nodded, and said, “The way he was looking at you usually can mean one of two things, and I don’t think he wanted to kill you.”
Lark’s cheeks flushed at the notion that Venrick was ogling her. She quickly struck down any idea of romance. His intrigue was likely directed at her because of the Hyalite, not her appearance.
“Yeah, he overheard some of our conversation and wanted to know why it made you so upset.”
“He overheard our conversation,” Lark repeated, remembering that Hardin almost suggested out loud what he thought was in Lark’s pack.
“It’s no big deal. We’ll be to Astral City by tomorrow and he’ll be off our minds.”
“Yeah,” Lark said absentmindedly. Questions swirled like vortexes formed in a river eddy, bubbling with new information emerging from her memory and the knowledge of who Venrick had squired for.
Venrick won’t get his hands on the Hyalite if I have anything to do with it. I’ll keep my daggers close, she thought while watching the tall Squire sitting comfortably on the wagon rolling behind them.
Venrick pressed the cool brass of the spyglass against his eye as he studied the caravan.
“There’s something unusual going on with this lot,” he said to Thunder and Giant, his trusted steeds.
They snorted in response, their breath forming tiny clouds in the crisp morning air.
“And why would Ingamar be following them?”
Thunder’s iron-shod hoof struck the frozen earth with a resonant tamp at the mention of the dragon’s name.
“The Morsythians, too. What’s their reason for traveling this far South?” he questioned. “Odder still was that fire fae... she was with that girl; Lark was her name. Follow the spark, meaning her?”
He paused, considering the impossible. “I’ve never heard of a normal human bonding with a fire fae. Does that mean… No, she can’t be, can she?” he considered, dismissing the thought that the unknown dragonrider who had come to Tel’s aid would be tormenting their dragon by traveling via caravan.
He focused the spyglass on Lark. She sat perched atop the rear wagon, her face buried in her hands as though she were contemplating life choices.
The bard, Hardin, emerged like a ground squirrel from the inside, popping through the hatch to join her on the roof.
Moments later, they were moving along the road to Astral City.
He collapsed his spyglass and kissed the two draft horses into motion.
Venrick followed, the familiar rhythm of hoofbeats beneath him a counterpoint to his racing thoughts as he tried to put the pieces of this puzzle into place.
What he couldn’t understand was why the town authorities in Fletcher’s Passage had pointed the finger of blame at him for the Morsythian’s murder.
He glanced over his shoulder at the town, glad to be leaving. Had fate not placed that stable boy in their way, verifying Venrick’s presence at the Inn before the Morsythian’s murder, he would be stuck behind iron bars.
“Who struck down the Northern orc? And why hadn’t his companions helped him?” Venrick’s thoughts drifted to Ingamar lurking in the forest. The dragon could’ve easily intervened, but he wouldn’t have left a body.
“Could all these strange events be because of the Flashover?” he asked himself.
“It’s coming up this year and people always say strange things happen around the Flashover,” he mused.
“Or is it because they have the Hyalite. No other Hyalites have been won since. If they are carrying a Hyalite with them, which one of them has it?”
Venrick didn’t know who all was in the caravan, but he contemplated those he’d seen last night.
“Ezra seems capable. He was an instructor at the Academy for decades. He could be trying to get back in the Keep’s good graces.
Or it could be the bard… No, Hardin needs to hire a hero.
He’s not one himself. There’s Lark, she could be hiding secrets, but why?
Why keep something so powerful a secret?
Its energy is enough to forge a bond with a dragon, fusing the dragon’s magical essence with that of one of the gods, forming an increased form of magic that can only be channeled by sharing it via a bond with the one the dragon chooses as its rider.
Why would anyone in possession of a Hyalite pass up such an opportunity? ”
A part of him wanted to drift back to where Ingamar might find him.
The dragon’s presence would be more than invaluable, even just for a second set of eyes.
Ingamar shared a connection with all Hyalites as he had used the power of a god to bond with Tel.
By now, Ingamar should’ve known Venrick was in the area.
If it was Ingamar, he was keeping himself hidden and did not want Venrick to find him.
If Venrick let the Hyalite slip away because he fell too far behind to observe the caravan, he would never forgive himself.
He and Ingamar never got along anyway. If the dragon wanted to keep his distance, then he could do so.
With no other leads, Venrick continued to keep the caravan in plain sight.
Hardin’s gaze traced Lark’s hunched shoulders as she huddled near the wagon edge, her fingers absently working the slightly frayed hem of her cloak.
The girl who had finally started sharing fragments of her past over campfire meals now seemed to fold inward with each step toward Astral City.
It was as if the looming spires on the horizon were pressing down upon her soul.
Today’s silence cut deeper than yesterday’s tentative words after Fletcher’s Passage, when she had at least met his eyes while declining soup that evening.
Now she stared at the road, her jaw set, the shadows beneath her eyes darker than the approaching dusk.
At least I don’t have to keep trying to jolly her along after today, he thought.
Her leather pack rested against her leg, worn but well-oiled, its ivory toggle shining dully in the daylight.
He’d never seen her let it get out of an arm’s reach.
Not while eating, not while sleeping, it was either on her shoulders or at her side.
Whatever secrets that pack held they seemed to weigh on her more heavily than the pack’s physical burden.
What could possibly be in there?
Hardin’s eyes lingered on the pack, his mind spinning with possibilities.
Precious Yogo Sapphires were a possibility considering the way she guarded it.
His thoughts skipped toward a more sinister prospect before he forced them back.
A Hyalite, one of the mystical orbs of power, could be nestled in those leather folds. The notion sent a chill down his spine.
No, he thought, shaking his head.
Hardin would sense that kind of raw energy, would feel it humming in his bones like a struck bell, wouldn’t he? That kind of power would be impossible to ignore, right? Yet the question of what she carried gnawed at him.
She is so mysterious. Why does she pretend that she can’t remember anything?
Hardin contemplated Lark’s behavior since they first met.
The way she tracked her surroundings, how she responded to questions with careful consideration rather than confusion.
Saying she suffered from memory loss had to be a way to keep others from asking her too many questions.
Amnesia alone couldn’t explain her secretive nature.
The truth lay elsewhere, locked behind those guarded emerald eyes.
Unless… Is the reason why she can’t remember a side effect of a spell?
The pieces didn’t align. Fire wheat harvesters might bear scars from their dangerous trade.
The occupation would leave physical wounds, but magical memory loss?
Those afflictions belonged to mages who’d drawn too deeply from forbidden wells of power.
No, something more sinister lay beneath her carefully constructed story.
Lark’s neck twisted again to scan behind them, her muscles clearly tense. The afternoon sun caught a sheen of sweat on her brow not caused by heat, but from the constant vigilance that had her head snapping around at every distant sound, every shadow that shifted in her peripheral vision.
She acts like someone who is used to being hunted, Hardin thought.
“Still back there?” he asked her.
“Yeah. He is most definitely following us.” Lark said, furrowing her brow. Her narrowed eyes constantly combed the area, her lips pressed in a tight line.