“If you think it is wise, my friend,” he answered with a nod. He rose with a slight trembling. Staring up at the dark tangles of trees, the Shae pulled the hood tighter and waited for Thealos to stand.
As they started walking again towards the village of Castun, Thealos wrestled with his thoughts. Sturnin had given him too many conflicting words, making him doubt Jaerod’s loyalty a little. He did not like feeling that way. But what did he really know coming from a realm of rumors and gossip? How many of the pieces actually worked together instead of conflicted? He thought about it a moment. A Bandit army was preparing to siege Landmoor – he had learned that from Jaerod. It seemed that Sturnin Goff was aware of some of the Bandit movements as well. There was a grove of Everoot somewhere nearby, and the Bandits had discovered it. Only Jaerod had known that. The Shae were needed to retrieve a lost talisman that would protect them from the dangers inherent in Earth magic being used in Forbidden ways. That was the secret he could not share. And Justin – or whatever his true name was – had been the guardian of a Warding, a work of magic created to protect something. The talisman or the Everoot itself?
As he walked and crunched in the matting of pine needles and shrubs, Thealos felt something pulling at his heart, tugging him inextricably south. He hadn’t seen it before, not when he was in bonds with Tannon’s Band. Or when he escaped the Crimson Wolfsmen in Sol. But he could see it now, as clearly as the sun’s hot smile. There was something pulling him south.
To Landmoor.
He knew for certain that the events unfolding in his life had not been random encounters. No, it was all too cleverly worked out for that. The gods were at work. And they were using him.
XIX
Roye scrubbed a trail of sticky ale from the wooden counter with a damp cloth. Three customers were passed out at the bar, and one snored with a throaty growl. The hearth fire snapped, keeping the chill of the sea’s wind outside the Foxtale. Rubbing his bleary eyes, Roye stepped around the bar and cursed the name of Flent Shago. Normally, Flent would have carried the drunks to the porch and let them sleep until the street dogs woke them up by licking the ale from their faces. But the Drugaen was gone and no amount of complaining would bring him close enough to cuff. And since Ticastasy had vanished too, it had been murder running the tavern that night by himself.
“Ungrateful Drugaen,” Roye muttered to himself. He shook his head. “Girl...you better not be working for anyone else. I swore I’d counter any offer you got.” He poked the nearest man with his thick finger and grumbled for him to get out. The man stirred, said a few slurred words, and Roye grabbed his shirt and helped him stand. It took a few moments before all three were either lying cozy off the porch or stumbling half-blind into the fog-misted streets. The garrison watch would find them, Roye thought, wiping his hands. Then they would be their problem.
Jingling a few coins he had snatched from their pockets to pay the tab they owed, he pulled the crossbar over the door and limped over to a stool to rest. Old bones getting tired, he thought, rubbing his swollen fingers over his scalp. He finished off the left-over drink from one of the patrons’ mugs before reaching for a well-used deck of playing cards. He flipped through it and smiled, remembering how good the Drugaen had become playing Bones. The dull expression on his face had lured unwary gamblers into playing high stakes. Added to the gracious way he lost and how he appeared to win by mistake, it made him a reliable source of income. Roye frowned. He hadn’t paid the Drugaen what he should have, but what had he ever asked for? A place to stay, some stew to eat, and all the drink he could swallow. Not a shabby trade, Roye thought, in a world that had little a Drugaen could trade his muscles for.
Roye dumped the cards on the counter and began picking up the empty mugs and plates. He wondered how long Flent and Ticastasy would be gone or if they would ever come back. How many days had it been? They were the reason behind the success of the Foxtale. Ticastasy had a way of making the place shine. Not just her personality, but how she arranged things in the place. He’d paid her well, but maybe another innkeeper had finally lured her away. The Drugaen could be replaced, but it would all be very costly.
A thump sounded at the door. At first Roye thought the wind had shaken it. But it sounded a second time, rattling the crossbar. Roye huffed and walked towards another table.
“I’m closed!” He turned his back to it, not waiting for a response. “Why is there always someone thirsty right before sunrise?” he muttered. “It’s so banned late I can hardly see.”
“Roye. It’s Tsyrke.”