7 Sage and Blackberries
Sage and Blackberries
They met no one on the road, only the warm wind and the steady rhythm of hooves as they followed the river north, sunlight glinting off the water as it rushed south. The day was unseasonably warm, and they stopped to water the horses at a calm bend in the river before moving on quickly.
In the distance to the west, mountains loomed faintly on the horizon.
Vaelira had expected to feel awe at the sight of these great protectors, at the very thing that had stopped the greater demon Veyrakh and his fire from devouring Eastvale.
The demon had succeeded in destroying the rest of the continent, turning it to ash and bones before the mages had sacrificed their powers to defeat him.
Awe wasn’t what filled her. No, all she felt was a hollow sort of indifference.
She had once dreamed of leaving Anhaven, of seeing what lay beyond their cliffside town, but not like this.
She’d always pictured Freya at her side.
Jon. Instead, she rode with two strangers, and they had both probably ridden this road a hundred times before.
Ahead of her, Eli shifted in his saddle, the muscles of his back tensing visibly through the thin fabric of his shirt.
He’d said barely two words to her all morning.
She could tell he knew more than he was letting on, and it took everything in her not to demand answers right there.
She doubted he would reveal everything so easily.
The river began to widen, and a lake appeared ahead.
The water rippled softly, throwing dancing lights across the surface.
Trees lined the bank to the west, spreading up and around to the north.
The road narrowed and sloped down towards the eastern bank, where a tall wooden wall stood.
It looked irresponsibly fragile compared to Anhaven’s stone.
“Surely that can’t keep out demons?” Vaelira asked.
“The town wouldn’t exist if it didn’t,” Eli said over his shoulder.
Lord Jurah rode up beside her. “Meer is a newer settlement,” he said. “Hardly six years old. Anhaven’s had decades to build its defences, but this one does the job well enough. It’s still standing.” He frowned. “Although, it might not continue standing if that is the best it can do for a guard.”
He nodded towards a man leaning against the gate. A sword swung loosely at his hip as he kicked the grass with the toe of his boot, his head tipped back against the timber as he stared at the sky. He hadn’t even noticed their approach.
Lord Jurah nudged his steed into a trot and rode straight for the guard. He swung down, more graceful than she’d have expected from a man his age.
The guard straightened, flushing as Lord Jurah’s voice rang out over the sound of the river. The Lord Commander of the Royal Guard in all his glory.
Vaelira urged Millie forward. “What if we’d been raiders?” she muttered to Eli.
“He’d already be a hostage. Or dead.” He said it with a shrug, as if it didn’t matter either way. “They’d probably keep him alive to bargain their way in.”
“And would they open the gates?”
“Unlikely. Protocol says not to, but anything can happen when guards are caught unaware. It depends on who’s in charge back there. But the Wastelanders are smart. They target small groups on the move, not towns.” He winked. “Don’t worry. Our big swords tend to keep them away.”
She didn’t respond. Not when she remembered what that sword had done only a few nights ago.
The guard gestured to the outpost above, and the gates began to creak open.
Meer was even smaller than she had expected. Buildings dotted the patchy grass, the cottages reminding Vaelira of home, with their slate roofs and mismatched stone walls. Through a curtain lined window, she caught a glimpse of a mother rocking a bundled infant in her arms. She looked away.
A man sat atop a pile of stacked timber, a pipe clenched in his teeth as he argued with a younger man, gesturing to the half-built home behind him. Beside them, a larger building rose two stories, a hand-painted sign hanging from the wall.
The Drowned Oar.
They dismounted and tied up the horses, unloading their weapons and packs before making their way inside.
The fresh river air vanished as they entered the tavern, the stale scent of ale, stew, and woodsmoke rising to meet them.
Vaelira’s stomach clenched. She’d eaten nothing but a few bites of hard cheese on the ride, but any appetite she’d had before was gone now, replaced but an unfamiliar wariness.
This was the furthest she’d ever been from home.
A polished counter stretched along the left side of the room, round tables filling the space in front of it.
At one, a man and woman shared an evening meal.
At another by the hearth, a group of men were drinking, their laughter loud and grating.
A barmaid was clearing their table when one of the men landed a harsh slap on her backside.
Vaelira’s hand drifted to the dagger strapped at her hip.
The raucous laughter returned, but the woman only lifted her chin and returned to the bar. She set down the tray on the counter and approached them, her hands braced on wide hips.
“What’ve I done to deserve such noble lookin’ gentlemen such as yourselves twice in one month?” Her eyes roved over Eli shamelessly, before landing on Vaelira with a sneer. “Went to fetch this little thing, did ya?”
Eli exhaled sharply through his nose and slid three silver coins across the bar. “Two rooms. One night. Fresh water and a hot meal each.”
Vaelira’s eyes widened. He was overpaying. By a lot. Perhaps Freya hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d spoken of silks and gold.
The barmaid scooped up the coins and dropped them into the fold at the front of her apron. She nodded to a narrow staircase at the back. “You know the way, my sweet. Take the room you ‘ad last time, and the one across the ‘all.”
Eli nodded and stalked for the stairs. Jurah gestured after him. “After you.”
The room was small, as was the bed, and the floors were covered in dust, but at least she was alone.
She left her bow and sword by the door, and her pack at the foot of the bed, then she unsheathed the pale-hilted dagger strapped at her waist. Vaelira turned the blade over in her hand then re-sheathed it, unstrapped the belt, and laid the dagger on the bedside table.
She stripped off her clothes and washed, not bothering to heat the pail by the fire. The icy bite was a welcome salve on her aching muscles. Then she cleaned her socks and underthings, laying them over a chair to dry near the small hearth.
Vaelira lay back on the firm bed, letting the warm air soothe her bare skin. She closed her eyes and allowed her mind to drift, willing it look ahead, and not behind. If it drifted back to Anhaven, she may never make it to Caerthalyn.
A knock startled her and she was suddenly very aware of her nakedness.
It came again.
She jumped up, pulling the sheet around herself as she scrambled to the door. Sliding across the latch, she opened it an inch, peering into the dim hallway.
“We’re going down for dinner.” Eli said, his face obscured by shadow.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’ve barely eaten. We’ve been riding all day and will ride all the next. You need your strength.”
“I can’t right now.”
Eli’s hand came to the doorframe. “Do you have a man in there with you?”
“What? Of course not—”
He pushed the door open. She stumbled back, nearly losing the sheet as she landed hard on her backside. Warmth flooded her face as she checked the sheet was still in place.
He stepped into the room, his gaze scanning each corner before settling on the clothes drying by the fire. His mouth twitched. “Well,” he said, dragging the word out like silk. “You’re clearly in no need of rescuing.”
She glared up at him. “You can’t just barge in here.”
“I just did.” He raised a brow, holding her gaze. To his credit, his eyes did not stray.
He lifted his hands in surrender. “Come down when you’re decent,” he said, turning to go. “We both know you’ll feel better with something hot in your stomach.”
The door closed behind him, and she stared at it for several moments, taking a breath to calm the rising anger at his entitlement.
When Vaelira decided her clothes were sufficiently dry and her temper sufficiently contained, she descended the stairs slowly, the clink of mugs and rise of laughter drifting up to meet her.
The tavern had changed in the brief time she had been upstairs.
More people had poured in, tankards of ale were in every hand, and there was no food in sight.
Laughter burst out above the steady hum of voices as pipe smoked curled overhead.
She spotted a gap near the corner where Eli and Lord Jurah sat at a table, straight backed and surveying the room.
She made her way towards them, weaving through the crowd, the press of sweaty bodies an insult to her freshly scrubbed skin. She dropped onto the bench beside them.
“You haven’t eaten?” she said over the noise, eyeing their untouched plates. “And after the lecture you gave me.”
Lord Jurah glanced at Eli and back to her. “We were waiting for you.”
She narrowed her eyes and threw a hand dramatically over her chest, mimicking the barmaid’s thick accent. “Such noble gentl’mun,” she exclaimed.
Lord Jurah snorted then shot Eli an apologetic look. Eli scowled at his Commander, then the expression vanished, his face smoothing instantly as he side-eyed Vaelira.
She gave them both a tight smile and turned to her plate, deciding not to get in the middle of whatever was going on between them. The meat was tough, the vegetables boiled too soft, but it was warm enough. She picked at the food, the silver coins weighing heavily on her conscience.
“Lord Jurah” she said, when neither man offered conversation, “how much longer until we reach the capital?”
“Two more days,” Jurah replied. “We ride to Allen tomorrow and the day after that, we arrive in the Caerthalyn.”