She shook her head. “No, I’d rather be in a city.”
Sturnin smiled wryly. “A city under siege isn’t much better, but we’ll make it through this.” He looked at Allavin. “If you find them, bring him to us in Landmoor.”
Allavin rose. “There’s a good inn on the north side of town. The Wee Kirke. Owner is Blain Kirke – he’ll know me.”
“Hopefully you paid him last time you were there,” Sturnin said and rose, gripping Allavin’s hand and giving him a hearty shake. “Good hunting, tracker.”
“You be careful, Flent Shago,” Ticastasy said, her eyes burning. She gave him a tight hug.
“I will,” the Drugaen promised in a whisper. She squeezed him even harder.
“You’ll always be my best friend,” she said, giving him a light kiss on his bearded cheek.
He smiled and gave her a squeeze around the waist. Nodding to the knight, he hefted his Sheven-Ingen axe. “Meet you in Landmoor, Sturnin.”
“Before you go,” the knight said, pausing him. He held out his hand and motioned for the axe. Flent handed it to him, confused. “I saw you in the Bandit camp. You swing this like you’re cutting down a tree, which is good if you’re fighting trees. Leaves you vulnerable when it’s too wide, see? Swing it down like this, high to low and low to high. That’s how you kill a man with it.” He smiled and gave the axe back to Flent.
“You sure about that?” Flent asked, turning the double-bladed axe over in his hands. He looked back up at the knight and winked.
*
Ticastasy tugged the cloak tighter for warmth. Her ankles throbbed from all the walking, but she kept up with the knight without complaining. He wasn’t a talker, not the kind that she enjoyed at the Foxtale. No, he was the kind who sat in the corner, quietly ate his supper and drank his ale, and then went for a bed with nothing more than a grunt or two of acknowledgment. Dawn had greeted them several hours ago, yet they still could not see the sun past the steel-gray clouds overhead. Fog swirled at the top of the trees, settling down over the Shadows Wood like a quilt.
Sturnin Goff reached the edge of the small embankment and stopped, peering through a thick curtain of scrub and pine. She walked up behind him, barely as tall as his shoulder.
“What is it?” she asked.
“The banned Valairus fog,” he cursed. “Can’t see Landmoor. But she’s out there.”
Ticastasy looked at the deep banks of thick clouds that had settled over the Shoreland moors. She heard bullfrogs croaking, the steady buzz of jupeflies, and even the whistle of swallows. There was definitely a creek or stream nearby, but the lapping waters were lost in the haze.
“And you were wondering how we would cross without being seen,” she said. “The fog roams up here every night. Should have counted on that, Inlander.”
“It’s a blessing and a curse,” the knight said. “If the Commander of the Shoreland regiment is half as clever as a grub, he’ll march the army down in the early morning. He can get pretty close to the walls without anyone noticing. Come on, lass. Let’s go.”
Ticastasy followed him down the rugged slope, leaving the thick forest behind them. The marsh grass was soft and squishy beneath her boots and soon cakes of mud clumped on the heels. She paused to shake them off, but Sturnin kept marching. Walking in the mist was like getting little wet kisses on her face. They had to stay close to each other, for the fog swirled so thick in parts that neither could see past a few paces. She watched the dew collect on the tips of her hair and soon felt as if she had just emerged from a dripping bath. She wiped her face, surprised at how much moisture was there. Sturnin’s armor looked absolutely frigid. Little streaks of watery blood trickled down the breastplate, making her shudder with disgust.
She thought about Quickfellow as she walked. She knew she shouldn’t, that it would only make her worry more. Knowing that Flent was with the best woodsman in the entire realm helped lessen her anxiety for her friend. Allavin would keep him alive. But she couldn’t help wondering where Thealos was. Were he and Justin crossing the mists at the same moment? Walking two hundred paces from each other and not knowing it? Wouldn’t she be surprised if he emerged from the fog ahead of them. She wanted to laugh. Would he even care if she did…?
A thrush fluttered from the tall reeds ahead, flapping its wings and cooing after being startled. Ticastasy’s heart thundered in her chest, but she calmed down, watching Sturnin Goff shake his head and mutter something. It had startled him too.
Suddenly, he stopped and planted his fists on his hips. She joined him and stared down the edge of a small rut into the icy waters of a creek. The waters were at least knee deep, and probably deeper in the middle.