Chapter 14 Araphi #2
“My book! My last book!” Tea wails. “It was here. I left it by the fire last night after my watch. But it was far from it, I swear. The log must’ve turned, and it caught aflame, and…” With a moan, she stoops to fish a few scraps of charred, clothbound cover and parchment from the pit.
“Seems like nothing but bad luck for this journey,” Araphi says. She’d meant to keep that thought to herself, but it slips out.
The glare Sage shoots her makes Araphi’s insides curl with regret. She clamps her mouth against anything else she might say.
“I suppose the only thing we can do is keep moving,” the ranger says. “Pack up. Let’s get going. The sooner we’re in Briarwall, the better. Perhaps they’ll have a nice book to replace yours in the garrison’s library.”
Judging by the crestfallen look on Tea’s face and her slumped shoulders, this seems an unlikely hope.
By day three of stony silence from her party leader, Araphi is about to burst. Though Tea is the picture of melancholy, Bramble and Nura are companionable enough.
Even Remy thaws a bit as Araphi badgers him for the name of his favorite song—it turns out to be “The Witchlight Maker”—to play by the fire that night.
But none of them are Sage. Araphi is ready to corner the ranger and demand answers—about Ollie, and about what happened in the hot spring.
Or at the very least, demand that Sage speak to her again.
But there’s been no privacy on the road, so Araphi resolves to find some tonight. Surely in Briarwall there’ll be a place to have a proper conversation.
When at last the garrison comes into view in the early evening, Araphi asks, “Is this it?”
“What were you expecting?” Sage asks dryly.
Briarwall really is nothing more than a sparsely populated military outpost set among towering pines, surrounded by a tall timber fence.
The main building is much smaller than her Aunt Menorath and Uncle Baremon’s estate in Ashaway.
Treehouse watchtowers built into the pines offer a view of both sides of the fence, in the center of which stands the famed gate.
It’s solid looking, yes, built from whole pine trunks shorn of their branches and secured to the massive frame with iron.
Nevertheless, the fence extends on either side of the Queens’ Road only so far as the encampment has been carved out of the trees, rendering it a poor safeguard on first sight.
But every schoolchild in the capital and beyond knows that Briarwall defends them from the wild creatures through spellwork rather than woodwork.
The gate is at the center of a wall of magic built by the greatest defensive casters from Harrow’s past ages.
All along the border of the Northlands, small towers stationed miles apart act as magical links, covered in runes like those carved along the frame of the gate.
If one of the towers were damaged, then the wall across that stretch of land would be weakened.
But while the gate stands, the wall stands, and it has never been brought down.
In its shadow squats a collection of rough wooden houses no larger than those of Hexham, if more sturdily built to withstand the cold.
Canvas tents are set up in one corner of the encampment, where lanterns cast an orange glow over Queensmen milling about and the horses snuffling in the cold air, their steps churning up the muddy paths.
Tea sniffles as she stares up at the gate.
A howling breeze rips along the edge of the wooden wall, sending Araphi’s cloak billowing behind her and stripping a scroll from Tea’s hands, which she’d been studying as they rode.
The wizard makes a tired, fatalistic noise as it flies away in the wind, but Araphi manages to catch it through luck as it dances past.
She rides over to Tea and offers it back.
“Thank you,” Tea says gloomily.
“Of course,” Araphi says. “It’s quite a sight, isn’t it?”
Tea nods. “I’ve read about the gate, of course, but that’s nothing compared to the real thing. I’m finding, in fact, that much of the world is nothing like what I’ve read.”
“Glorious, isn’t it?” Araphi says, trying to lighten Tea’s spirits.
“Decidedly not. Imagine how bad the lands beyond the wall are going to be.” She shudders.
“I’ve not read much about those. Have you?”
Tea nods, swiping at her nose. “Misty, cold, full of strange creatures, and worse.”
Araphi tries to picture it: teeth, claws, ghostly winds. But instead of inspiring fear, she feels a jolt of excitement. Despite it all, despite Sage’s silence and the hardships of the journey, she’s still wildly eager to see the Northlands.
“Well, at least you have magic, and we have you,” Araphi replies.
Tea makes a watery noise and turns her attention back to her scroll.
Which is fine, as Araphi’s attention is pulled away to Sage, who rides up to a grizzled, weatherworn man wrapped in a long coat standing beside the garrison gate.
Refusing to be left behind with the somewhat depressing wizard, Araphi kicks her horse and rides up beside them, which earns her a glare from Sage.
“Greetings, friend. We’re looking for beds for our party and a place to stable our horses,” Sage says. “We’re only here for the night, but we’ll need at least five rooms if you’ve got them.”
The man scowls. “This late in the year, the stables are open, but most everything else is closed up. Not too many civilians riding this way once the snow starts falling, and we’re expecting the first of it overnight.”
“Be that as it may, surely you have some place for us to sleep?” Araphi jumps in with her sweetest smile. She puts as much charm as she can into the request.
The words have the intended effect, pulling an indulgent half smile from the man. “Suppose we could find something. No rooms. We’ve got two empty bunks, four beds in total, in the barracks, but they’re not much.”
“What about there?” Sage nods toward the cluster of tents across the encampment. “I know you keep a few lots in reserve for companies passing through, or messengers up from Ashaway.”
“Aye, we do,” he admits, speaking more begrudgingly to Sage. “Only one empty at the moment. An officer’s tent with two beds, if that suits.”
“Marvelous.” Araphi beams. “Sage and I will share the tent, and the rest can have the beds in the barracks.”
Sage makes a noise of protest beside her, but Araphi doesn’t care. Just let her try to keep up the silent treatment tonight. As Araphi recalls from Hexham, Sage wasn’t terribly skilled at keeping quiet once they were alone.