He voiced this, too, a few minutes later, after Ester had given over her own saber with a deliberate request that the scabbard not be anything gaudy, and the group again moved into the market alleys in search of clothes and rations.

  “Are you going to explain why we just spent a quarter of our gold on a blade Bonner has no interest in, and neither Ester nor I have a prayer of handling?”

  Ryn, walking beside him, rolled one eye in his direction, a pleased expression apparent on the odd mix of serpentine and equine features, his mood much improved now that the claymore had been strapped securely atop his new packs. The weight of the thing was prodigious, but they’d managed to counterbalance it with their spare longsword and most of the forty arrows the forge helpers had gathered for them in bundles of oiled cloth to keep the delicate fletching out of the wear of rain and sun.

  I’ve been teaching you for fifteen years how to swing a sword. Do you really think I never picked up a blade myself?

  Declan took pause at this, having never considered the concept. Then again, that struck him as equally odd. “Another of the curiosities you suppressed?” he asked, working to keep his voice even despite the momentary irritation that flared up at the realization.

  Ryn bobbed his head, sidestepping to avoid an empty, two-wheeled cart a pair of women were pulling along, shouting at the top of their lungs to “Clear the way! Clear the way!” Ester and Bonner had broken away from them, and were several paces ahead through the crowd.

  One of many, Declan, for which you already have my apologies and regrets. But yes. Your forefather taught me himself. He was a prodigious swordsman—trained by the best the courts could offer—and I found the pursuit amusing. It was useful as well, at times. Taking to my natural body is draining and not always convenient, and there is only so much my other forms are capable of.

  “‘The courts’?” Declan echoed, curiosity suddenly peaked, keeping his voice lowered so no one might wonder if he was perhaps talking to himself. “What do you mean? Was Herst a nobleman? Or are you talking about somebody else?”

  Ryn looked abruptly torn, like he’d slipped up and didn’t know whether to press forward or retreat. Before he could get a word out, however, Ester shouted back over the heads of those that separated them, pointing upward to a black banner along a perpendicular lane that showed a needle and spool in gold threading.

  That’s an involved question, and one we can speak of later, Ryn said after Declan had waved a hand in acknowledgment. Perhaps once we’re back on the road. It’s not a discussion to be had in whispers among the company of strangers. Bonner would tell you the same, and Ester, as little of the full story as she knows.

  Declan fleetingly considered arguing, but thought better of it after looking around. They’d been in the markets for well over an hour now, and the place had grown steadily more constricted. The fanfare and color had begun to lose its appeal in favor of a budding desire to be free of the entrapping throngs. Swallowing his curiosity, he conceded with a nod before following Ryn at an angle through the press to rejoin the yr’Essels, making together for the bright red tailor’s tent Ester had spotted.

  It took them longer than they would have liked to purchase their new vestments, the doting seamstress assigned to them keeping up a continuous torrent of comments that ranged from Ester’s beauty to Declan’s broad shoulders and scars to the horrid state of their current attire as a whole. They couldn’t complain about the woman’s work, on the other hand, and by the time they extricated themselves from her company the two were both bedecked in new threads that would hopefully last them any respectable journey. Ester, who at least still had some spare clothes, had opted for two new shirts, fresh britches, and a thin blue half-cloak that was treated to repel rain and mud. Declan, however, had nothing more than his boots, stained trousers, and the half-gone vest, and so ended up spending the bulk of their remaining funds on several pairs of new pants, shirts, and a proper coat to fend off the coming chill of fall. He would have called himself satisfied, but at the other three’s insistence had also taken up a mantle of green and brown stitched cloth to replace his lost traveling cloak, light and treated like Ester’s, but longer, hanging to the base of his calves.

  Comforts and provisions were last. A small cooking pot. Waterskins. New bedrolls for Declan and Ester, as Bonner wasn’t keen on the idea of depending on spellcraft for comfortable sleeping arrangements. Shortly thereafter, they’d finished stuffing Ryn’s packs with a conglomeration of salted meats, dried vegetables, and the spices that significantly improved any roadside meal, and it was with no sense of disappointment that the group collectively decided it was time to be on their way. The thrum of the crowd had taken on a hollow, tedious quality that grated at one’s patience, and even Ester voiced a need to be gone from the stifling crowd. They made one final round about the edge of the bazaar to pick up the promised scabbard from Stern’s Anvil—a handsome, simple curve of leather stitched with silver wiring for rigidity. After that—and with a shared breath of relief—the party extricated themselves from the market’s milling bustle via one of the smaller north roads. The calmer streets of Ranheln proper were almost empty in comparison to the organized chaos they were leaving behind, and the absence of the press of bodies was more than welcome. They moved at their own pace through the city for a time, talking lightly of their purchases and how long the foodstuffs might last, no one yet willing to address what had to be done next. After a quarter-hour or so, they reached the wide breadth of the High Road again, at which point the group took a united pause.

  Behind them, the southern quarter of Ranheln rose, cheerful and lively, still inviting with its applauding colors and churning sounds of people. Before them, the northern districts were quieter, but no less welcoming, smoke furling ever upward from the plain, low roofs, twisting about in the breeze that brought the clean smell of the Tessys’ clear waters to them even from some distance off. To a one they felt the pressing security of the city all around them, the mute sense that they were safe, there, within the limits of its borders. Declan allowed himself a moment to think on whether they should leave at all, whether if perhaps it wasn’t best to stay, to take advantage of the Iron Wind’s hospitality and find some other way to get word to the Aletha.

  The image of the drey, plummeting down upon them in the busy streets to ruinous results, set his thoughts to rest.

  As one, without a word, they turned east, making towards the red and black uniforms of the Vigil guards, as distinct as the cobblestones giving way to the grass and earth of the open forests, beyond the warmth of Ranheln’s walls.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  They didn’t see so much as a new day before their combined fears bloomed into reality.

  Despite all of Ryn’s earlier promise to expand more on Declan’s ancestry, they barely made it out of the city before the dragon’s focus was justifiably required elsewhere. The first concerns welled immediately, at their exit from Ranheln, the departure far less tedious than their entry the previous night. The King’s men stationed at the eastern mouth of the High Road were duly preoccupied, too taken in by dealing with the extensive flood of incomers to bother with a pedestrian handful of travelers making their leave. The line of carts, wagons, and families on foot was alarming from the go, stretching nearly half-a-mile long into the depth of the woods. Even upon reaching its end—where they might have expected to find some measure of privacy to converse—the four didn’t spend more than a minute at a time alone on the path before crossing another group heading with all haste in the opposite direction. No one gave a word of protest when Ryn fell silent, eyes fixed on the road ahead, his senses very clearly extended to their limit.

  They came across more signs of trouble as the day pressed on. While the passage of the fleeing country peasants eventually slowed, their presence was just as quickly taken up by Vigil messengers thundering by on courier steeds every ten or fifteen minutes, faces drawn and pale with whatever news it was they were carrying to and fro. As mid-afternoon arrived, patrols started to make their appearance, soldiers marching along the High Road in squads of as many as twenty, eyes set resolutely on the woods around them.

  It wasn’t hard to deduce what the men were on the lookout for.

  Still, despite the dangerous atmosphere and Ryn’s focused absence from conversation, Declan, Ester, and Bonner managed to distract themselves with their own discussions, talking as casually as any of them could manage about their plans. Aletha, in the end, was indeed the best option, they all agreed. If the army was gathering to hold back the wereyn holed up in Sevyll, there was a good chance the four of them would be able to safely manage the journey. Even given the news that the beastmen were coming over the Tears elsewhere, it would require little more than a detour to the south, off the causeway, to most likely avoid interaction with the creatures and approach the capital from the west rather than the north. It wasn’t ideal, but it was a preferable option to the possible encounter with a horde of a size to put Mathaleus and the Vigil on edge. With this decision, a little of Ester’s energy returned, her previous anticipation of seeing Viridian’s greatest city only escalated by their visit to Ranheln. Her budding joy was contagious, an example Declan couldn’t help but follow eventually. Before long the woman had him telling her of the place once again, green eyes shining beneath the hood of her new cloak while she listened. He described the Mother’s Word cathedral, the grander details of the royal palace, and the flat grasslands surrounding Aletha which were responsible for the fascinating illusion of the city rising steadily from the earth itself no matter what direction one approached it from. Bonner had half-an-ear on the conversation as well, more closely paying attention to Ryn while they moved, offering only now and then a comment on how things sounded to have changed since his time.

  All the same, these anecdotes—like the stories Bonner had shared during their pleasant mornings in and about the yr’Essel’s lost home—frequently left Declan far more interested in the mage’s tales than he was in his own.

  They allowed themselves to be preoccupied in this way for the remainder of the day, forgoing the burden of nerves which had returned the moment Ranheln’s colors disappeared into the trees at their back. Ryn hardly spoke a word throughout the entirety of the afternoon, so intent on their surroundings that he might have passed for a real horse had it not been for the dragonish traits mixed in with the hair and hooves. They took a late lunch on the move, and he barely allowed himself to be distracted long enough to thank Ester while she hand-fed him strips of dried beef and carrots.

  The days were truly getting shorter, now. The sun began an early descent, and when the light started to fail and the steady chill of the fall evening crept over them all, Bonner said a quiet word to the dragon. Without answer Ryn shifted his course and led them off the High Road almost at once, into the thickets north of the path. For several minutes they made a plodding pace through the trees, watching their steps carefully while the shadows deepened around them. Eventually they reached a massive wall of solid dirt and broken stone, and Ryn led them along the cliff that was all that remained of a greater hill long split and washed away by time and the elements. There was plenty of shelter to be had among the outcroppings, the rocky juts extending out overhead here and there where the earth had fallen away unevenly, and eventually they found a large, removed chasm, a concave erosion so deep it was almost a cave. It seemed a precarious place to spend the night, and it took Bonner’s pronouncement that all was quite solid after a moment’s concentration with his hand pressed to the wall of the cliff before Declan and Ester could be convinced to step within.

  The space was wide and open, the rough ceiling overhead hardly high enough for Declan to stand up in comfortably. The floor was dusty and scattered with loose rubble, but it was dry and easy enough to clear, and a far cry better than risking a night on damp grass beneath the coolness of the open sky. The familiar rhythm of evening set in almost at once, and without so much as a word the group began to make camp. Declan started unloading Ryn while Ester set to clearing a space for all of them to sleep at the back of the cavern, and Bonner began gathering an armful of scattered rocks from the edges of the space. There would be no fire, just as there had been none for the week-long trip to Ranheln, but no one minded. Bonner’s firestones might have been wanting in light, but they provided ample warmth and were absent the smoke that would have been troublesome in such an enclosed, low area. By the time Declan had the dragon unpacked, the mage had a merry little pile smoldering silently nearby, in the center of the slightly-less dusty circle of ground Ester had just finished kicking clear.

  “Anything?” Declan asked Ryn quietly while he pulled the leather straps over his long head. As soon as they were off his shoulders, the dragon began to change. By the time Declan had dropped the harness in a neat pile by the nearby wall, the horse had been replaced by the tall, bipedal form of his rh’eem.

  At the question, Ryn seemed to shake himself a little from the intense focus he’d been consumed by all afternoon, going so far as to curse in his own tongue when he tried to stand tall only to have his spined ears scrape the low ceiling. Nothing, he admitted, brushing aside the breath of dirt fallen across the crown of his head. Not a damn thing all day, other than more soldiers scouting the forests north of us. I’m almost regretting having let them put me so on edge.

  He sounded exhausted, for which Declan could only sympathize. He recalled the infrequent occasions in which the dragon had held a similar vigil in the past, when they’d been crossing through dangerous territory or knew to be wary of ambushes, and it had always seemed draining. He felt a little ashamed at the pang of disappointment that claimed him, then, realizing there was little chance he would manage to coax the dragon into much conversation for the remainder of the night.

  “Take a rest, then,” he said, resigning himself and motioning towards the cleared ground about Bonner’s enchanted stones. “We can handle dinner. And don’t even think about claiming the first watch.”

  Ryn, without the energy to argue, only did as he was bidden, easing himself down to sit in the warmth of the magic. Within five minutes he had slipped onto his side on the hard-packed ground, and was promptly asleep.

  After that the evening’s meal happened in quick order. Ester left the overhang for some twenty minutes, bow in hand, and returned dragging nothing less than a small doe behind her, leaving only the faintest trail of blood along the rock from the clean shot at the base of its neck. Declan made use of himself by dressing the thing down while Bonner kept busy warding the cove. Before long the three of them were silently roasting rough chunks of venison over the smoldering stones, Declan and Ester using their own blades while the mage borrowed the spare longsword from their things. They spoke quietly while turning the sizzling meat, not wanting to bother Ryn until the meal was cooked to their satisfaction. Only then did they rouse the dragon again, Declan shaking him gently and wordlessly offering him a full haunch of the catch when he cracked open a tired, gilded eye.

  They ate in silence, each keeping company with their own thoughts. When they’d finished Declan saw to the rest of the deer carcass, dragging it a ways off into the woods, leaving the yr’Essels to clean the blades in a spout of water Bonner drew straight from the ground, then wash out and refill their half-empty skins. The evening’s necessities done with, they set watches quickly, giving Ryn last shift with deliberate disregard to the dragon’s protests, and settled in for the night. Declan made no complaint when Ester unrolled her bed mat by his—near enough for comfort but not so close as to be indecent—and fell asleep to the sound of her breathing nearby.

  Up, you two! Up! Bonner, see to the light!

  Declan was on his feet before Ryn’s voice ended its alarm, his new bastard sword hissing from its sheath, taken up from where it had been carefully laid out beside him when he’d settled down after his lookout. To his left Ester was kneeling beside Ryn, looking like she’d just woke him to rouse he and Bonner more discretely, and across the glow of the enchanted stones the old man was clambering to stand. As soon as he found his feet the mage made a quick, slashing motion of one hand, and the warm light of the firestones died like a doused flame.

  “What is it?” Declan hissed through the momentary blackness, eyes only slowly adjusting to the faint illumination of the moon and stars outside, framing the wide opening of their overhang. Ester had had the third watch, taking up her place after he’d finished his own shift, so it had to be past midnight, in the twilight hours of the morning.

  Ryn didn’t respond at once, and Declan saw only the barest shifting of shadows when the dragon’s bleak shape moved along the back wall of the cavern. There was the clink and scrape of something metallic and heavy being lifted, and Declan suspected he knew what it was his friend had been fetching for himself.

  Wereyn, Ryn answered, and it was odd not to know where he was speaking from, his form lost in the lack of light. Two of them. A warg as well. Ester saw them tracing the path we took, along the cliffs.

  “What? But… Bonner’s ward…?”

  “Shields us from being found out by spellwork,” the mage’s voice answered quietly from the right, and Declan made out the outline of the man against the bare light of the night, hood up to stave away the evening chill while he braved a quick look around the edge of the cavern. “There’s not so much I can do to keep us from being tracked by more conventional means.”

  Declan understood, then. Many of the wereyn were sure to have keen senses of one sort or another, and their damned warg—the wolfish, hulking creatures native to the Tears—most certainly so.

  They were being hounded, like game in a fox hunt.

  Quiet, both of you. They’re nearly here.

  Bonner’s form vanished, slinking back into the shadows. There was a nearly imperceptible sound of wood on wood, and Declan knew Ester had knocked an arrow to her bow in preparation. Then all was still.