Chapter 33
When we reach the village of Vekhara in the Krelthar foothills, dawn finally encroaches. Everyone is exhausted. Desmond detoured us to a main road before reaching the village, so no one would suspect we had circumvented Mordrak.
That caution was excessive, given Vekhara’s waist-high wall ends on either side of the path without a gate between them. The only creatures around are a trip of goats and their one-legged goblin shepherd. He watches us warily but doesn’t move from the hay bale he leans against.
It’s a telling impression for the rest of the village.
Goblin farmers tend to small fields of cabbage and root vegetables, pausing in their work to regard us with narrowed black eyes.
The distrust is palpable, and yet none approach us.
The message is clear: don’t bother them, and they won’t bother us.
“I thought Torok was the most innovative of the nations,” I whisper to Min as we walk beside the carriage. Where are the aqueducts I’ve heard stories about? The transportation rails? The most sophisticated structure here is their stone well.
“This village has no valuable resources. Therefore, it was not a priority to industrialize,” she answers. That’s the rational, yet brutal way of thinking I’ve come to expect from goblins. Life in Nettlerock was dull, but I think I’d rather die than live here.
Vekhara’s only commercial establishments are an inn and an overpriced general store that doubles as a pawn shop.
The owner looked just as seedy as the shop itself, which was home to more than one palm-sized spider skittering across warped floorboards.
At least it had a few curiosities. I splurged on a rucksack that’s allegedly weightless and bottomless per a hag’s clever enchantment.
I’m not holding my breath that it’s true, but at least the rocks my magic tossed inside didn’t add any weight.
Nor did they vanish immediately. You never know with hag magic.
Desmond leads Enbarr and the carriage behind the inn as the rest of us walk inside.
A hearth lies at the center of the large room, benches surrounding it.
A ladder in one corner leads up to a trapdoor, and there’s a single door behind the back counter.
The sign hung on it reads “keep out” in each of the continent’s languages.
The establishment is rather dilapidated, with craterous holes in the floorboards and an unpleasant draft.
The goblin innkeeper looks up from his counter. So does the single guest at the hearth, an incongruous human man dressed in a robe like Min’s, yet his is white instead of orange.
“Scuse me,” Finnian says to the innkeeper. “Got two rooms for five? Three in one, two in the other.”
The goblin looks affronted. He’s a head shorter than I am, with dark gray skin, black hair pulled back in a stubby ponytail, and jet eyes like Min’s.
“What do you think I run?” he splutters.
“A luxury baq? There’s one room upstairs.
One room with ten beds. If that’s not to your liking, sleep in the field. ”
“What’s a baq?” I whisper to Min.
She tilts her head, thinking. “It is what you may call a ‘bed and breakfast’ in Avedor, except goblins are not known to be exquisite chefs.”
Finnian opens his coin purse. “Then how much for five beds?”
Min approaches him, lays her hand on his chest, and opens her own coin purse. “It would be rude to present Avedoran marks here. I will pay in rocks.”
Like paying in rocks isn’t rude? I raise a brow at Auri, who frowns as though explaining to me is a massive burden. “The original currency of Torok was rock from Mount Mordrak,” she hisses into my ear. “Don’t ask me how many centuries ago that was, because I don’t care enough to remember.”
The bronze coins that Min stacks onto the counter are a little larger than Avedor’s marks. The innkeeper swipes them away and points to the ladder. Finnian climbs up first. Auri follows second.
Min motions for me to stay. “You’re a monk of Aedros. Are you a healer?” she asks the human man. “We were recently in battle. Can you reinvigorate us?”
He’s around my father’s age, with weathered hands and wrinkles across his temples. “I’d be honored to assist a daughter of Aedros,” he says as he bows his head. “It’s been some time since I’ve seen another of our kind.”
“Likewise, brother,” Min says.
“How strong of a healer are you?” I ask, thinking of Evie.
The Aedrosian’s smile is sheepish. “Not very.”
Disappointment thrums through me. I’ll start searching as soon as I’m back home.
The monk cracks his knuckles, then stands.
“This may be uncomfortable for a moment.” When he slips a hand underneath my tunic collar, my instinct says to kick his groin.
Yet his hand promptly slides over my heart, and Min looks so assured that I feel foolish.
“This won’t take long,” the man promises me.
I force myself to exhale, then feel a warm, tingling sensation spread from his hand. The soothing heat blooms beneath my skin as though I’m back in the guild’s hot spring, and all the pain from the last day melts away.
“Is that better?” he asks. “Maybe a little more—Oh, I think that’s good enough.” He removes his hand and takes three steps away, watching someone in the doorway. “My apologies. I was merely healing your partner.”
I turn around to see who he’s speaking to.
Desmond stands in the inn’s doorway, a dagger clenched tight in his palm. He stares at the man’s white robes, then at my shoulder as I flex it, then back at the man’s robes. “Oh. You have our thanks.” He sheathes the dagger, but stands there awkwardly. “She’s. . .”
“Not his partner,” I supply. “And thank you.” I bow my chin. “Blessings to Aedros.”
The man beams. “You wouldn’t believe the lack of gratitude I get around here. Not that I’m complaining.” To Min, he says, “Would you mind conversing with me for a bit? Some story swapping? It’s also been a rather lonely journey—not that I’m complaining.”
Min nods. “Yes, that would be acceptable.”
I’m not sure what sort of stories Min plans on telling, but I hope none involve her nocturnal escapades.
“Min paid for the rooms, I take it?” Desmond says quietly, suddenly right beside me.
I flinch, then let out a sigh. “Try room. Auri and Finnian are already up there.”
Desmond tenses, then shakes his head as if banishing a thought. “Let’s check on the others.” He reaches for the ladder, then climbs it with his dark cloak swishing behind him.
My pulse slows as I climb after him. The inn’s second story is a single room, the mohair blankets on the beds moth-eaten.
The air is rather stuffy for autumn. Finnian’s already snoring louder than a troll, and Auri lies on the bed across from him.
She nods at me as she balances a dagger on the tip of her finger.
Desmond sits on the bed beside hers and hunches over, his hands laced in his lap.
“If the fomorians are looking for us, they’ll check Mordrak first,” Auri says, glancing at him.
So they’re both concerned about the attack. “Do you think someone will tell the fomorians where to find us?” I ask them.
“No,” Desmond says, his voice tightening. “I know they will. But I don’t know how they’re communicating, not even after interrogating—”
“Desmond,” Auri cuts in sharply. Then she sighs. “You’re exhausted.”
I hadn’t noticed the dark circles under his eyes until now.
Then Auri whispers, “I don’t like that Min is on her own.”
I’m about to remark that Min can well take care of herself when I realize what she really meant. My blood runs cold. “It can’t be her. I watched her kill two of them.”
It’s only been two days, and already we’re pointing fingers at each other.
“Her morals fall differently than the rest of the guild,” Desmond says.
“She’s not motivated by wealth or comfort, but simply what she perceives as justice.
Despite what Rune wants everyone to believe, it’s Min who has the final say on whom she assassinates.
She alone shadows them, then deems them deserving. . . or undeserving of their lives.”
Auri wrinkles her nose. “That’s conceited.”
“I’ve heard she’s a good judge of character,” Desmond replies with a shrug. “And inexorable once she makes up her mind.”
I lean toward them, my fingernails anxiously digging into my thigh. “So your point is, she wouldn’t betray you to the fomorians unless she saw it as righteous. Well, do the fomorians have a reason to think killing you is moral? One that Min might support?”
Auri glares at the floor as if her anger could traverse realms to the fomorians. “A feud as old as time is bound to be morally rationalized by both sides.”
“I wouldn’t expect Min to be involved when the Hollowlands is on neutral grounds with Torok,” Desmond adds.
“As for the fomorians wanting me dead, Auri is correct. It’s a matter of patriotism.
” Then he stands. “We’ll stay here until tomorrow morning.
I need more intel on the route, and Cyn needs to train. ”
“And where exactly are you sleeping tonight?” Auri asks, her uneasy glance belying the evenness of her tone.
Desmond doesn’t look back as he answers. “Outside.” He climbs down the ladder, leaving Auri and me uncomfortably alone.
“What do you have planned for the day?” I ask her. Inwardly, I wince. It’s odd making small talk with Auri.
“There isn’t any satisfactory high ground in this village,” she says, flipping the knife into the air and catching it by the blade. “Patrolling the perimeter may aggravate the villagers, but I plan to do so under the guise of frequent walks.” Then she glances at me. “And you?”
I shrug. “A bath would be nice.”
She nods. “Ask the innkeeper.”
Good idea. I wave goodbye as I walk toward the ladder, ignoring how strange it feels to be cordial with each other. Her eyes narrow at me for a moment, and then she resumes tossing and catching her knife.
I climb down the ladder. Desmond isn’t on the first floor, so he must be somewhere in the village. Min still sits with the monk, deep in conversation with him.