Chapter 6 #2
We mount up again and the horses seem refreshed from the rest, eager to move.
The landscape changes as we ride and gentle farmland gives way to wilder terrain. The trees grow closer to the road, their branches creating dappled shadows.
I keep my hand near my sword, ready.
We reach the town by late afternoon. Calling it a town is generous. Dúnbhrae is really just a village. There are maybe thirty buildings clustered around a central square with a well at its heart.
A mill sits at the eastern edge, its wheel turning slowly in the stream that feeds through the village. The rhythmic creaking is the loudest sound besides the wind in the wheat fields surrounding us.
There’s a blacksmith’s shop with a forge, a general store with faded paint, and what looks like a combination inn and tavern.
The buildings are simple and practical rather than beautiful.
They are constructed from wood and stone.
I look at the thatched roofs and small windows.
This is the kind of place where people work hard and don’t have money for luxuries.
Children play in the dusty street, their laughter carrying on the warm air. They’re kicking a leather ball between makeshift goals, shouting and running.
The kids freeze when they see us riding in. Their eyes go wide at Garrett’s fine clothes and our horses. These are animals worth more than most of these families make in a year.
The children cluster together, suddenly shy or afraid. All except one.
“Commander Clayborne!” A little girl with dark braids and a gap-toothed smile breaks from the group. She drops the ball and runs forward.
“I can read a whole chapter now without help!” The pride in her voice is unmistakable.
Garrett dismounts smoothly and his entire demeanor shifts.
“That’s wonderful, Màiri. Your mother must be so proud.” He crouches down to the girl’s level, smiling in a way that reaches his eyes.
“She is! She says I might be able to go to the academy in Aelfheim when I’m older.” Màiri bounces on her toes, practically vibrating with excitement. “Are you here to see Aunt Eithne? She’s been so sad since Uncle Marcian didn’t come home...”
Garrett’s smile doesn’t waver, but I see his eyes tighten at the corners. “I’m here to help your Aunt Eithne. To find out what happened to your Uncle Marcian.”
“Will you bring him home?”
The question is innocent and hopeful. A child who doesn’t understand death yet. She thinks every problem can be solved if the right person tries hard enough.
“I’m going to try.”
The girl seems satisfied with the answer. She beams at Garrett, then notices me for the first time. Her smile falters and the light in her eyes dims.
I know what she sees. A big man with scars and cold eyes, dressed in black. My weapons visible even to a child’s eyes.
I look like exactly what I am.
Danger.
“This is Wolf,” Garrett says, standing. “He’s helping me with the investigation.”
“He’s scary,” Màiri whispers, but not quietly enough.
Some of the other children have crept closer, drawn by curiosity despite their fear. They cluster behind Màiri, using her as a shield between themselves and me.
“He looks scary,” Garrett corrects gently. “But he’s one of the bravest people I know. He once stood between me and six armed bandits without hesitation.”
That is a blatant misrepresentation of events. I’m about to call it out when Maìri’s eyes go even wider. “Really?”
“Really. And he won. Didn’t get a scratch on him.” Garrett grins at her.
Another lie. He was the one who killed most of the attackers.
The girl looks at me with new eyes, reassessing. The fear doesn’t completely leave her face, but curiosity starts to replace it. “Are you a knight too?”
“No,” I say. “Just a guard.”
“The best guard,” Garrett adds easily, as if he means it.
Maìri giggles and just like that, I’m less terrifying to her. Some of the other children laugh too.
Magic. That’s what Garrett has.
We secure the horses at the inn’s post, a worn wooden rail that overlooks the pond. More villagers start to appear, drawn by the commotion. They emerge from doorways and the fields.
Word has spread that Commander Clayborne is here.
They’re all looking at him with a mix of hope and desperation.
I’m busy counting possible threats while he makes small talk.
The rooflines are a nightmare. Anyone could be hiding up there with a crossbow.
We’re surrounded by potential hostiles and I have no way to secure the area.
“Wolf.”
I look at him.
“It’s a farming village. The most dangerous thing here is probably a...”
He stops mid-sentence.
I follow his gaze and see it immediately. A large white goose has waddled into the street from behind the general store. It’s massive with pristine white feathers and a long sinuous neck.
“…a goose,” Garrett finishes with a careless laugh.
But the bird fixes its beady black eyes directly on him. It takes a step forward, spreading its wings to make it look even larger.
I’m already moving.
My body reacts before my brain catches up. “Stand back.”
The goose hisses. It charges with its neck extended, making a sound like a demon being strangled.
Fuck, it’s moving way too fast.
I step between it and Garrett. There’s no other way. I need to get him away from the devil-bird. My palm hits Garrett’s chest and he goes flying backward, eyes wide with shock.
“Wolf, what are you—”
I push him straight into the pond. The splash is magnificent. Water erupts in all directions like a small explosion. Ducks scatter in a chaos of quacking and beating wings, their peaceful floating interrupted. The children and the villagers stare, mouths open.
The goose, having achieved its apparent goal of terrorizing us, waddles away with a self-satisfied honk.
Garrett surfaces, sputtering, golden hair plastered to his face like seaweed. Pond water streams from his expensive clothes, his fine riding coat now soaked and heavy. He blinks water from his eyes and looks at me.
Suddenly, he slips beneath the surface like a stone.
“Garrett?”
Bubbles rise where he disappeared. The water settles, showing only ripples and the disturbed ducks reforming their group.
He’s not coming up.
“Garrett!”
My heart stops. Everything stops. The village, the people—they all fade to background noise.
There’s no time for thought. One moment I’m standing on the bank and the next I’m diving.
The cold steals the breath from my lungs.
I can barely see a foot in front of me. The pond is murky with disturbed silt.
Weeds brush against my legs, tangling. My hands sweep through the water, searching, finding nothing but more weeds and mud.
Where is he? How deep is this pond? Why isn’t he coming up?
There. Cloth. An arm.
I grab him and haul upward, breaking the surface, dragging him toward the edge. My feet find purchase on the muddy bottom. Garrett’s dead weight in my grip, heavy and limp.
Panic claws at my throat because I pushed him in. I did this. If he’s hurt, if he’s drowned, it’s my fault—
Laughter erupts from his chest.
The little shit is not drowning.
He’s laughing.
The sound is bright and clear and fucking infuriating.
“You...” I start, water streaming down my face. My heart is still pounding with fear that’s rapidly transforming into anger. “You bastard.”
“You should see your face—“ He can barely get the words out between gasps of laughter. His whole body shakes with it.
“You pretended to drown.”
“I knew you’d save me.” He’s grinning now, water dripping from his perfect face, his perfect hair. “The look on your face when I went under...”
The children have started laughing too. So have several of the gathered villagers. The gods-damned goose waddles past, and I swear on every god in the elven pantheon that it looks smug about this entire situation.
Garrett wipes water from his eyes, still grinning. “Did you really think I couldn’t swim? I grew up on a river estate.”
“I didn’t think. I just—” I stop because I don’t want to finish that sentence.
Because finishing it means admitting that I dove in without hesitation. The thought of losing him sent me into the water without a second’s thought for my weapons, my gear, anything.
Losing him wasn’t an option I would consider.
He reaches up and plucks something off my shoulder. A lily pad, green and dripping. He holds it up like a trophy.
“You look like a very large, very wet dog,” he says, still grinning.
Water drips from my hair into my eyes. My boots are full of pond water. There are weeds tangled in my clothes. I can feel mud squishing between my toes.
But Garrett is alive.
I can’t tell if I want to pull him close or shove him back under.
My hands tremble with both impulses. We wade to the edge, and willing hands help pull us out.
Màiri is laughing so hard she’s holding her sides.
Several of the adults are trying to hide their smiles too. We stand there dripping on the bank.
Several villagers usher us toward the inn’s entrance.
Garrett waves off their concerns, still grinning.
Inside, the inn is modest but well-kept.
Several tables fill the common room that serves as both gathering space and tavern.
A bar stretches along the far wall. Years have worn the wooden floors to a smooth shine.
The walls are decorated with dried herbs and paintings of the wheat fields at sunset. An elven lady emerges from the back room, wiping her hands on her apron. Her dark hair streaked with silver is pulled back in a practical bun. She takes one look at us and starts laughing.
“Let me guess,” she says, dark eyes dancing with mirth. “You boys fell into the pond?”
“We had a goose accident,” Garrett says, wringing water from his shirt. He’s absolutely soaked.
“Happens more than you’d think.” The woman shakes her head, still smiling. “The geese are territorial little mischiefs.”