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Chapter 6

  • The stream was more of a river, too deep to ride across, and we had to ride downstream for some way before we came to a stone arch of a bridge, green with moss. I threw the last scone over the edge. “In case there’s a troll,” I explained to him when Rivyn protested.
  • “And if there’s not?” he wondered as he guided Coryfe across. He held the reins in one hand, his other wrapped around my middle. I was sure I was not imagining that he was riding closer to me, his chest now firmly pressed against my back and my legs resting against his. He had taken over the stirrups, too.
  • “Well, something will eat it, I’m sure.” Beyond the bridge, the grass began to show wear, gradually forming into a road. “We’re on a road now, so we’ll come upon somewhere eventually,” I was happy about that. I did not like being ignorant as to where we were, and hopefully, if there was a village or a town, we could find lodgings overnight. I hoped the mage would pay. I had the household coins in my purse, but I did not want to part with them, in case Rivyn stranded me somewhere along the way home, and I had to make the rest of the journey alone. “A village, or a town.”
  • “Yes,” he agreed. “And we will need to resupply if you’re going to continue throwing good food at unoccupied bridges.”
  • “How do you know it’s unoccupied?” I asked him.
  • “I’m a mage,” he said as if that explained.
  • “I don’t know much about mages,” I admitted.
  • “Is that right?” He was amused.
  • “Why is that funny?”
  • “Well,” he considered his words. “You’re just a village girl... Mages don’t tend to frequent little villages.”
  • “You’re too important, and tend to frequent cities?”
  • “Yes. And so, it’s not exactly unexpected that you wouldn’t know anything about us.”
  • “Well, tell me something about mages, then.”
  • He was silent for a long moment as if trying to think of what to say. “Mortal magic users have a strain of brethren in them, somewhere along the line. Men do not possess magic in themselves. It is introduced via the brethren bloodlines, as it is natural to this world and mankind is not. You would think, the more recent the brethren connection, the stronger the power, but it is not necessarily so. The power is very... unique that way. Some very powerful sorcerers cannot trace their link, it’s so far in the past.”
  • I was fascinated. “So, you have Fae or Elvish, somewhere in you?” I asked him. I had suspected as such, from his ears.
  • He laughed. “Yes.”
  • “Is yours recent?” It explained why he was so fearless. The Fae were the most mighty beings in the world, and therefore feared no one. It would explain much about him.
  • “Very.” He was not going to elaborate the tone told me. His mother or father, I decided. “I grew up in the Fae Court,” he added, surprising me.
  • “Really?” I breathed it out. “What is it like?” All I knew of the Fae court was from stories and some depictions in the books in my father’s scant library, and that mostly impressed upon me their beauty and elegance, wealth, and power. And that time ran differently for mankind caught there, so that a person may age decades in a day or be gone for decades only to return and find all their loved ones gone.
  • “I don’t know, it’s just... home,” he replied quietly. He was homesick, I thought. “I did not choose to leave,” he added.
  • “What happened?” I asked him.
  • “I was betrayed,” his voice hardened. “My power stolen, and I was cast out.” The trees parted before us, and we could see a little village straddling the road. “Ah,” he was pleased. “A tavern. Excellent.”
  • A stable boy took Coryfe for us, and we entered the tavern. It was a small room with a low roof that meant that Rivyn had to duck beneath the lower beams. The hearth in this chamber was unlit due to the mild weather, though we had seen smoke rising from one of the other chimneys. There were chairs and tables around the room, mostly unoccupied except for one man, eating a bowl of stew with his tankard of beer, his face hidden in the hood of his cloak.
  • The bar had two men sitting at it, deep in conversation. The inn keeper evaluated us as we entered, eyeing up Rivyn’s impressive height and build, and his fine clothing. “We don’t want any trouble,” he said to him. “Respectfully.”
  • “We’re not after any,” Rivyn replied firmly. “Just a meal, something to drink, and perhaps a room for the night?”
  • “We can do that if you have the coin to pay,” the man replied, his eyes narrowed speculatively.
  • Rivyn placed a silver coin onto the bar. The head impressed upon the back was not Queen Clareath of Nerith. “Two if you throw in a bath.”
  • The innkeeper looked at the coin. “Where are you from, stranger?” He turned the coin in the light. “This is not a local coin.”
  • “Silver is silver,” Rivyn pointed out.
  • “That it is,” he took a coin from the apron he wore and balanced both in his hands. “And weighs about the same, so it’ll do.”
  • We sat before the cold hearth with our tankards. Rivyn sighed heavily as he sat. “It’ll do for a night,” he muttered under his breath.
  • “It’s better than the forest,” I pointed out and took a sip of my beer, grimacing at the bitter taste.
  • He laughed. “Have you never drunk beer?”
  • “No. It looks as if it should taste better.” It had a milky looking foam on top, but it did not taste like milk. I was not sure if I liked it and took a second sip cautiously. By the fourth mouthful, it was growing on me.
  • “I prefer wine,” he agreed. “But I suspect anything served here would be more vinegar. I’d also hesitate to drink their water.”
  • “But you’ll bathe in it.”
  • He met my eyes over his tankard. “We’ll bathe in it,” he corrected.
  • The inn keeper’s wife brought us two bowls of stew, interrupting the conversation. The stew was heavier on vegetables than meat but smelt reasonable and my stomach was uneasy with hunger.
  • “Ah,” Rivyn said to her. “What is the name of this village?”
  • “Nedin, my lord,” she replied flushing and sending him an inviting smile. She was a pretty woman, much younger than her husband.
  • “Thank you,” he did not seem to notice her attention. As she left, he inspected the stew with a weary sigh. “Do you have any idea where Nedin is?” he asked me.
  • “I am not bathing with you,” I whispered across the table, giving the other occupant of the tables the side eye. He did not seem overly curious, withdrawing further into his hood and angling away from us slightly. “And no, I have never heard of Nedin.”
  • “It’ll be a tight squeeze,” he replied, lifting the spoon to his lips and sampling. “Tastes better than it looks. I’m not sharing a bed with you unless you’ve washed the travel from yourself.”
  • “I am not sharing a bed with you,” I was outraged.
  • “There’s probably only one bed in a tavern this size,” he pointed out. “But you can sleep on the floor if you insist. Stop hissing at me and eat your stew.”
  • He was right. The stew did taste better than it looked. I smuggled a sample to my fairy man. Rivyn watched me, with a slight frown on his face, as if I were a puzzle that he could not quite work out.
  • I was growing to like the beer, and the level in my tankard was dropping. “So, what is the next thing you need to get and where is it?”
  • “Ah,” he watched me drink my beer speculatively. “Well, I need to obtain some spell components as Nedin is inconvenient for us, and then we’ll see if we can get ourselves somewhere more civilised.”
  • “What sort of spell components?” I wondered.
  • “Nothing too esoteric. Our bath is ready,” he observed, his eyes on the inn keeper’s wife who had re-entered the room, red cheeked and sweating from her efforts. He chuckled when I stood and swayed. He had been, I realised, waiting for exactly that. “Beer has a kick, hm?” he observed, steering me to the door where she waited.
  • She led us to a room tucked away behind the tavern. A rudimentary bed pressed its head against the bricks of the wall, big enough for two, I thought with a flush. The sheets and bedding looked clean, at least. Opposite to the bed, a fireplace burnt with cheerful flame, freshly lit, and only just beginning to warm the chamber. They had set a large wooden tub before the fire, freshly filled with hot water as steam still rose from its surface. Soap and a cup sat on a small wooden table, and cloths for drying were rolled and set to the side.
  • “Will you be needing help?” The innkeeper’s wife asked Rivyn, her interest blatant.
  • “My wife has it handled,” he replied firmly. “Thank you.”
  • “Your wife?” I demanded as the door shut.
  • “Well, it sounds more respectable than the wench I picked up off the road yesterday,” he divested me of my cloak and bag. “Boots off, Siorin.” He sat on the bed to remove his and dropped his cloak and bag onto the bed. “Don’t be shy,” he pulled off his shirt, and my mouth went dry. I turned my back to him firmly, but the image of him shirtless was seared into my mind’s eye.
  • I heard the water as he stepped into the tub with a sigh. “Don’t make me get out and fetch you,” he said. “Water will get everywhere.”