The lore master walked to the front of the coach. The driver sat on the raised bench with his coat drawn up around his neck, a formless sack hat pulled down over his ears. Between his thighs he trapped a small corked jug. “But there’s nothing here, sir,” he insisted.
“Don’t be absurd; of course there is. You’re here, aren’t you? And so am I.” Arcadius pulled open his bag. “And look, there are some nice trees and this excellent road we’ve been riding on.”
“But it’s the middle of the night, sir.”
Arcadius tilted his head up. “And just look at that wonderful starry sky. It’s beautiful, don’t you think? Do you know your constellations, good man?”
“No, sir.”
“Pity.” He measured out some silver coins and handed them up to the driver. “It’s all up there, you know. Wars, heroes, beasts, and villains, the past and the future spread above us each night like a dazzling map.” He pointed. “That long, elegant set of four bright stars is Persephone, and she, of course, is always beside Novron. If you follow the line that looks like Novron’s arm, you can see how they just barely touch—lovers longing to be together.”
The driver looked up. “Just looks like a bunch of scattered dust to me.”
“It does to a great many people. Too many people.”
The driver looked down at him and frowned. “You sure you want me to just leave you? I can come back if you want.”
“That won’t be necessary, but thank you.”
“Suit yourself. Good night.” The carriage driver slapped the reins and the coach rolled out, circled in a field, and returned the way it had come. The driver glanced up at the sky twice, shaking his head each time. The carriage and the team rode away, the horses’ clopping became softer and softer until it faded below the harsh shrill of nightly noises.
Arcadius stood alone, observing the world. It had been some time since the old professor had been out in the wild. He had forgotten how loud it was. The high-pitched trill of crickets punctuated the oscillating echoes of tree frogs, which peeped with the regular rhythm of a human heart. Winds rustled a million leaves, fashioning the voice of waves at sea.
Arcadius walked along the road, crossing the fresh grooves of the carriage wheels. His shoes on the dirt made a surprisingly large amount of noise. The dark had a way of drawing attention to the normally invisible, silent, and ignored. That was why nights were so frightening. Without the distraction of light, the doors to other senses were unlocked. To children, the dark spoke of the monster beneath the bed. To adults, it spoke of the intruder. To old men, it was the herald of death on its way.
“Long, hard, and rocky is the road we walk in old age,” he muttered to his feet.
He stopped when he reached a post lurching at a crossroad. The sign declared RATIBOR to the right and AQUESTA to the left. He stepped off the road into the tall grass and found a fallen log to sit on. He pulled the shoulder strap of the sack over his head and set it down. Rummaging through the bag, he found a honeyed muffin, one of three he had pilfered from the dinner table at the inn. He was old, but his sleight of hand was still impressive. Royce would have been proud—less so if he found out that Arcadius had paid for the meal, which had included the muffins. Still, the big swarthy fellow at his elbow would have poached them if he had not acted first. Now it looked as if they would come in handy, as he had no idea when—
He heard hoofbeats long before he saw the horse. The sound came from the direction of Ratibor. As unlikely as it was for anyone else to be on that road at that hour, the lore master’s heart nevertheless increased until, at last, the rider cleared the trees. A woman rode alone in a dark hood and cloak. She came to a stop at the post.
“You’re late,” he said.
She whirled around, relaxing when she recognized him. “No, I’m early. You are just earlier.”
“Why are you alone? It’s too dangerous. These roads are—”
“And who would you suggest I trust to escort me? Have you added to our ranks?”
She dismounted and tied her horse to the post.
“You could have paid some young lad. There must be a few in the city you trust.”
“Those I trust would be of no aid, and those that could help, I don’t trust. Besides, this isn’t far. I couldn’t have been on the road for more than two hours. And there’s not much between Ratibor and here.” Before she reached him, he started to rise. “You don’t have to get up.”
“How else can I give you a hug?” He embraced her. “Now tell me, how have you been? I was very worried.”
“You worry too much. I’m fine.” She drew back her hood, revealing long blonde hair, which she wore scooped back.
“The city has been taken?” Arcadius asked.
“The Nationalists have it now. They attacked and defeated Lord Dermont’s forces in the field and the princess led a revolt against Sheriff Vigan in the city. Sir Breckton and the Northern Imperial Army arrived too late. With the city buttoned up and Dermont dead, Breckton’s army turned around and headed back north.”