29. Lowlife sellsword
Lowlife sellsword
I solde awoke alone, though the lingering warmth at her back told her Felix had not been gone for long.
She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
Luella and Garren were nowhere to be seen, but Mia and Leif were still curled up in their blankets.
Waking up dry and warm was luxurious, never mind waking up dry and warm after…
that. There was a lingering, languid feeling of deep satisfaction in her body that had nothing to do with dry bedding.
She leaned her chin on her knees and stared dreamily into the fire.
“Nice shirt. You seem very relaxed,” Mia said a few minutes later from right beside her, her face split into a wide grin. It startled Isolde; she hadn’t even noticed the other woman’s approach.
“Mhm,” was the only answer she could manage. She did feel very relaxed and content. Like something had fallen into place.
Mia laughed. “That good, huh?”
“Mm.”
“Here, thought you might want some of this.” Mia handed her a small pouch as she sat down. “Put it in hot water and let it sit for a few minutes, drink it before it cools down. Fair warning, it tastes like rat shit. ”
Mia was offering her witch lace, a herb used to prevent pregnancy, she realised. Isolde smiled. “Thank you, Mia, but I have some.”
Mia’s eyes went round. “Do you? Good for you. I appreciate a woman who takes care of herself.”
Isolde giggled and got up to tuck a pot of water in the smouldering embers of the fire.
When it was hot enough, she poured some into a cup and returned to her sleeping spot.
It took a bit of rummaging through her pack to find the little packet, but it was still there, and thankfully untouched by the rain.
She submerged a few of the leaves in the water and sat back down next to Mia.
“You’ve made that before,” the bard observed.
Isolde nodded.
“You keep surprising me.”
“I was engaged before, you know.”
“Yes, I do, I just didn’t think… well.” Mia shrugged. “I always imagined the, ah, female nobility as very… proper. Sex only after marriage, in the dark, to make babies. Not for pleasure.”
Isolde blinked. “Female nobility?”
“Let’s just say I’ve met many noblemen,” Mia said with a catlike grin, “but few noblewomen. Fine ladies do not tend to frequent East Quarter taverns very often.”
Isolde huffed a small laugh as understanding dawned on her. “Do you think they should?”
“Oh, yes. A woman learns a lot about men in a tavern.”
“Such as?”
“Mostly that they talk too much when they get drunk. And that the ones who don’t have the most interesting things to say.”
Isolde snorted. “Most men I know back home talk too much whether they’re drunk or not. And they never have anything interesting to say.” She paused. Back home felt like a hundred years ago. Like another person’s life, not hers. “Sometimes I wonder if I miss any of it.”
“Well,” Mia said, “do you?”
Isolde was quiet for a long moment. She wrapped her hands around the cup, the warmth seeping into her fingers.
“I miss my books,” she admitted. “And my feather bed, and hot baths — Triad above, I miss hot baths. And I suppose sometimes I miss taking safety for granted, before I knew how fragile it was.” She fell silent.
“Not a great early morning topic,” Mia said sympathetically. “Anyway, are you going to tell me why you were so interested in my stories last night?”
Isolde swirled the leaves in her mug and took a sip, struggling not to gag. “I think… there might be something there,” she said without looking at Mia. “Some truth. Some hint. A missing piece of the puzzle. It probably sounds silly.”
“Not to me,” Mia said with a shrug. “Silly stories are how I make a living.”
Isolde smiled. “I only… I refuse to believe this is nothing but a mistake, or some kind of magical mutation. When I stood on the ley line, I felt a presence. I’m going to the Nexus to do something important, not to get cured…
” She took a deep breath. “I don’t want to be cured.
This magic is part of me now, and I want to keep it. ”
There, she’d said it out loud. Not to Luella or Garren, but she’d said it. She pinched her nose and swallowed a big gulp of tea.
Mia was eyeing her appreciatively. “I don’t blame you, love. I wouldn’t give mine up either.”
“I haven’t seen you use it,” Isolde said, suddenly curious. She had almost forgotten that Mia had a small amount of magic, even though she could sense it inside her if she focused.
“No need to,” Mia said breezily. “You lot are an easy audience. My magic is subtle. Music, storytelling. The fine art of persuasion. Influencing opinions, changing someone’s mind.
I’m not a miracle worker, but I do well enough.
” She leaned back against the wall and laced her hands behind her head.
“When I was younger, I thought I was merely very charming. I am, of course, but it took a few years before I figured out it was more than that. If I say the right word or play the right chord, I can nudge others in a certain direction. It has kept me safe from all kinds of things, most notably from men. I would be lost without it. ”
“That is incredible,” Isolde said, looking at Mia with renewed fascination. “I wonder if I could learn to do that.”
“Isn’t your magic essentially limitless? You can probably learn anything you want.”
“Maybe…” Isolde’s thoughts drifted as she considered Mia’s words, and they lapsed into a companionable silence.
She was about to ask another question when Felix’s silhouette appeared in the doorway. He was still shirtless, and gave her a grin that brought back vivid memories of his mouth doing other things. It sent tingles down her spine. Next to her, Mia said something.
Isolde blinked. “Sorry, what?”
Mia laughed, feigning exasperation. “Well, as far as bardic inspiration goes,” she said with a yawn, “the two of you are truly a gift that keeps on giving.” She rose and arched her back in a languid stretch, then threw Isolde an exaggerated wink before sauntering off.
“Good morning,” Isolde murmured as she leaned her head against Felix’s shoulder when he sat down next to her. He smelled of rain. “You’re not wearing a shirt. I like it.”
Felix turned to smirk at her. “That's good, since you’re wearing it. Where’d you get that?” he asked, looking at the mug. “Does witch lace grow this far north?”
Isolde lowered her eyes as her cheeks reddened. “I, um… I got it from Asara, in the Crovan village. Just in case.”
Felix stilled next to her. “You… you have been carrying witch lace around for weeks and weeks,” he blurted out after a moment, laughter in his voice, “through battle and endless bloody wilderness and rain, just in case? You utter temptress. Have I ever told you that you are brilliant?”
She giggled. “Once or twice.” He pressed his lips to hers, and she laughed at the face he made at the lingering taste of the tea.
“Could you not?” Luella called from the doorway. “And does he not own a shirt?”
** *
Felix found a shirt to wear by the time Garren returned to the keep. The older man appeared withdrawn, even for him. It made Isolde nervous, but she was determined not to let it show.
She looked around at her gathered companions.
Quiet, reliable Luella, cautious but capable Garren.
Leif, with all his wide-eyed wonder and excitement, and Mia with her wit and unexpected wisdom.
Isolde had grown to care deeply for all of them, for sticking with her even when they did not agree with all of her decisions.
She hoped that the decision she was about to announce would not change that.
Felix leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
His eyes were on her, his expression warm.
He would support her. The knowledge that he had her back, no matter what, made her strong.
“So,” she began, twisting her fingers nervously, “I think it could be helpful if we analyse our situation and piece together all the information we have. About the Nexus and the mages, as well as the other, um, groups involved. We could try to come up with some hypotheses…” Her voice trailed off, and she looked around at each of them.
“That is an excellent idea,” Luella said with a firm nod. “Perhaps we should start with the mercenaries.”
Isolde’s insides twisted at the memory of the broken man, crushed by her boulder. “Their pursuit ended after our… confrontation with them in the hills. Afterwards, they either retreated, or we evaded them somehow.”
“If Alwin was leading them, which he most likely was, any survivors or parallel groups won’t continue to pursue without heading back to a guild house for new orders first,” Felix said. “That’s how they operate. We’ll have left them far behind by now.”
“How much further until we reach the Nexus?” Isolde asked.
“Five days, give or take,” Luella answered. “It’s supposed to be at the foot of the Veilcrags. ”
Five days! Isolde struggled not to sway on her feet at the news. She wasn’t ready. Part of her wanted to run as fast as she could in the other direction.
“Probably not much chance of them catching up,” she said, chewing her lip. “That leaves the mages. Supposedly, the mage from the ball is ahead of us. Likely already there. What do we know about him?”
“According to Mia, he has several other mages and a company of mercenaries with him,” Luella said. Mia nodded in acknowledgement.
“I talked to him,” Felix said, frowning. “His colleague wanted to have you killed, but he argued against it. Said the binding was weak, and that this was an opportunity.”
“What binding?” Isolde asked. Something tingled inside her mind. She was convinced that this was important.
But Felix simply shrugged. “They didn’t discuss it further.”
Isolde stared into the fire and tapped her lower lip with a finger. The presence at the Nexus was magic itself. She knew it needed her help. Was this binding restraining it somehow?
Mia rushed over to where she had stored her lute, startling everyone with the sudden movement.