Chapter 7 The Lumber Town
Road to Griken
The next day, tension hung thick in the air as they wound down the steep hill toward the lumber town.
Gareth was a ghost of his usual self. Gone was the raucous laughter, the bold tales that usually filled the morning air. He trudged ahead, shoulders hunched, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the path.
Each step echoed with things left unsaid.
Rowena watched him, her heart pounding with dread and longing. She wanted to break the silence, to ask about the night before, to know if he had made a decision. But the hardness in his expression stopped her cold.
The words snagged in her throat, replaced by a knot of anxiety.
Along with the fear of continuing alone, a flicker of sadness surprised her.
She would miss his company. Despite her doubts, Gareth made her laugh—a rare thing she hadn't done freely in years.
Nearing the outskirts, Rowena's eyes widened. A broad brick road unfurled before them, cutting straight to the lumber town, forking in bold lines around Golhaven and the Great Forest's edge.
She stared, momentarily speechless at its scale.
It was a feat of construction she could barely imagine.
"This road...it wasn't here before," Rowena whispered, awe in her voice.
Gareth didn't meet her gaze. "Two years ago, it was all dirt and mud. This was built after the war began."
His hollow tone and clipped answers made Rowena uneasy.
As they drew closer, two guards stood on the road at the city's entrance. Behind them, a tall wooden stockade encircled the town.
Rowena gestured at the looming wall. "And that stockade? That wasn't here either. They're fortifying everything."
As the guards came into view, Gareth's steps faltered.
He drew closer, voice a tense whisper. "Before we enter, you should know something. A few years ago, I came here to trade fur—half the city was burned to the ground. It might have been the attacks. Maybe they're after the lumber."
Rowena frowned. "Goldhaven has always been Etherian territory. Of course the enemy would want it. But you're acting like there's more."
"There was no stockade then. No soldiers at the gate." Gareth's gaze flickered between the guards. "You may want to reconsider visiting this town."
Rowena considered this for a moment, but she knew they needed two things: supplies and information, neither of which could be found wandering the wilds.
Rowena squared her shoulders. "We need supplies, Gareth. There may still be allies within these walls. Maybe they built the stockade for protection—not just to hide."
Gareth's voice turned urgent, almost pleading. "You don't understand. The world's changed while you were in the woods. Etheria—"
She cut him off, fierce. "Our mission matters more than fear. We go in—no matter what."
He relented, eyes sharp. "Fine, but there's one last thing before we go in."
Rowena arched an eyebrow. "What now?"
He halted, stepping in front of her to block the guards' view. His hand shot out, palm open. He hissed, "Give me your sword. Now."
Rowena's hand flew to her hip. "My sword? Why?"
"Carrying Etherian steel is treason now. Your sword is marked—I've seen the crest. If the Greater Empire controls this place, they'll string us up. Give it here. I'll hide it."
Rowena's breath caught. "The Greater Empire? Are they the ones—"
"Later," Gareth snapped. "Sword, Rowena. Now."
She hesitated before handing it over.
Gareth tucked the sword alongside his axe. Both vanished beneath his cloak in one swift motion.
Gareth turned to the Dissolver. "Don't speak," he warned. "Not here. Let me talk."
The boy's eyes widened in silent alarm.
Turning back to the town, Gareth led the way to the gate, approaching the guards with forced casualness.
"Halt." One shouted, holding up a hand.
Rowena and the Dissolver both recognized the purple tabard—griffon over an upside-down crown. The boy's fear was plain, but Rowena felt sick anger twist inside her. She wanted vengeance, but she'd settle for a little respect.
"This city is under temporary restrictions," barked a guard, as if reciting a bedtime story. "Only merchants, residents, and millworkers past this point. Everyone else, take a hike."
Without thinking, Rowena blurted, "Temporary restrictions? Under whose authority do you restrict an entire village?" Her voice rang with authority.
Being highborn, she was accustomed to making demands and receiving respect, and with anger clouding her judgment, she'd momentarily forgotten her place.
Gareth shot her a warning glare, a silent command to keep quiet.
Then he twisted up a smile. "Gentlemen, forgive my wife.
Long journey, empty stomach—you know how it is.
We'd be grateful for a roof, or even a corner under the eaves.
Promise we won't snore." His charm teetered on the edge of desperation.
The guard shook his head. "No. Entry is prohibited by order of Supreme Governor Varek Aelthros."
Rowena's heart wrenched.
She'd never heard that title before. How powerful was this enemy, to grant someone a title like that?
She repeated the name,
Varek Aelthros
over and over in her mind.
It was glaringly familiar, yet she couldn't recall where she'd heard it.
She thought she saw the faintest flicker of recognition on Gareth's face—a strange look—but he quickly recovered, pressing on with his ruse.
"Well, I also happen to be looking for work," he said, desperate now. "You said millworkers are allowed in. Maybe I should speak to the lumberyard foreman."
The guards exchanged a glance. One quirked an eyebrow, the other twisted his mouth into a sneer. Then both burst into snort-laced laughter, the kind that made Gareth feel like the punchline to a joke he'd never heard.
"You? Work in this lumberyard?" one scoffed, stepping so close Gareth could smell stale onions on his breath.
The guard leaned in, voice dropping to a mocking whisper. "You'd sooner chop off your own foot than a tree in this place."
He jabbed a finger into Gareth's chest, flecks of spit punctuating every word. "No pass, no entry. Go home before you embarrass yourself further."
Gareth remained still. Something primal surged within him at the jab of the man's finger and the sting of his disrespect.
Anger rose in his chest.
He stood his ground, refusing to back down.
Rowena watched the change in Gareth,
the stiffening of his back, the way his jaw clenched, something wild in his eyes she'd never seen before.
It rattled her.
Until now, Gareth had always been steady. But this was raw, unpredictable,
a glimpse of something darker beneath his usual calm.
For a moment, she hesitated, uncertain whether to trust this side of him—or fear it.
She reached for his arm, her voice softer than usual, laced with pleading. "Dear, I think it's time we leave."
Reluctantly, Gareth followed her lead, turning away from the guards, blood boiling.
As Gareth turned away, the guard's voice rang out, dripping with mock concern. "That's right, dear. Better listen to your pretty wife. Men like you always end up on the wrong side of the gate—or the wrong end of a pike."
Laughter rippled among the soldiers, their amusement more threat than cheer.
Something in Gareth snapped.
He spun, fist cocked,
ready to deliver a lesson in respect.