Chapter Seven

They had been walking for nearly two days and Selene was beginning to question her decision to follow this comely traveler. She could no longer feel her feet, and her legs were on fire with every muscle begging to stop. Seros must have noticed her faltering, because he stopped just after night’s first and nestled her up under a tree.

“Wait here,” he said before he disappeared into the dark forest.

Sitting under the tree she felt a hundred times better. Her legs and feet still ached, but getting the weight off of them was the sweetest feeling she had experienced in a long while. To her left, lying on the ground, was Seros’ bag. Selene looked at it for a long moment, the gurgle in her belly growing as she thought about what food might be inside the bag. It was not right for her to look through it, she knew, but she could not remember when she had been so hungry. Besides, he would give her food if she asked, so it would not be stealing. What would he care if she took some? Only enough to satisfy her hunger, no more, no less, she told herself.

She peered in cautiously and shuffled a few things around as she looked. There was a thin leather-bound book with a leather clasp and some writing quills, along with a change of clothes and an old, hard loaf of bread. She pulled out the bread and set it beside the bag, and returned her gaze to the bag. Perhaps he has some meat or hard cheese, she thought. Selene pushed the book aside and was feeling around when a shot of pain snaked up her hand. She pulled it back quickly and inspected the painful digit. There was a cut on the palm of her hand. A curse escaped her lips as blood began to drip from her palm.

“Careful, it’s sharp.” His voice startled her. She looked up at Seros and then to his half-emptied bag that lay open beside her and lowered her head in shame.

A shallow chuckle escaped his throat. “Do not worry, my dear. There is naught in there worth fretting about. Let me see that cut.”

Selene held out her hand and he looked over it for a moment. He pulled out the shirt from his bag and ripped it into a long strip. Gently, he wrapped it around her hand. “We will keep an eye on that. Could you break a piece off that bread?”

Did nothing anger this man? She had just blatantly violated his privacy and trust, yet he still stood there with a smile—his soft eyes betraying no ire, hinting no aggression. She broke off a piece of the hard, stale bread and handed him the larger piece. He nodded in thanks and took a bite.

“It is stale and old, but it will do,” he said with a frown. “There is a small village not a half night’s walk, if you feel up to the challenge.” He popped the rest of the bread into his mouth.

“There will be an inn?” Her face brightened, but she quickly remembered her situation. “But I have no coin to offer for a room.”

“There is most assuredly an inn, and let me worry about the payment,” he said with a wink. “Now, up we go, if you dream of sleeping in a twine bed tonight.”

He hopped up and shrugged on his bag. Selene followed, reluctantly at first, though not because she did not desire to move, but more because her legs were like clay and her body protested every movement.

“Does one ever get used to walking so far?” she asked with a groan.

Seros chuckled and looked back over his shoulder. “The body is a magnificent thing, my dear. It can be soft and mushy and unreliable on one hand; on the other, it can be the deadliest weapon in the entire world.”

Selene pondered that for a moment. “More deadly than the Steel of the Isles?”

“My my, the little lady knows her weapons.” A large hill loomed in front of them and Seros took it in stride. “You must know then that a blade, even one as sharp as those from the Isles, is only as good as the man or woman that wields it. Now, where is it that you learned about the phantom blades, I wonder?”

“Everyone knows about the Isles,” she said matter-of-factly. “I still remember some of the stories my mother told me when I was a child, before she died.” Her demeanor quieted slightly at the mention of her mother, as if she had not meant to talk about her.

Seros braced himself between two large boulders and, with his free hand, pulled her up the small rock face. “The realm can be a harsh place,” he looked up at the sky for a moment. “I have lost many dear to me as well. At times, I thought that the cut was deeper than I could bear. I suppose I found a purpose though, a way through the hurt. It is there, you just have to find it.”

“The realm is a terrible place headed by a King who allows rape and murder, condones it even. If it were up to me, I would have nothing to do with it. I would live out my days on the Isles or the Trypt.”

Seros smiled and continued, the moonlight danced through his hair as he moved. “The Trypt is just as perilous, and the Isles are no longer, at least not in the way you envision them. The Silent King had a taste for the free people’s blood, and he had his fill on the Isles as well, I am afraid.”

“But there are still people there, no?”

“Aye, marauders and pirates, thieves and murders—they call the Isles home now, not the free people. I have seen it with mine own eyes. There is naught left but the dead, and not even a soul to mourn them.” Sadness raked his voice as he spoke of the lost Isles.

“Perhaps someday the Lost Prince will return and lead his people to retake Panthos and restore the Isles. That would be a story, wouldn’t it!” The thought of it excited her, though she knew it was not like to happen in hers, or anyone’s, lifetime.

Seros only looked back at her with calm eyes, as if there was a sad knowledge that had escaped her, “Perhaps someday,” he said with a forced smile, and continued up the small mountain.

Selene did not know how long they had traveled, but it must have been hours. Her entire body had long since gone numb, and she drifted in and out of a state of consciousness that made the trees dance along with the shadows. And then, when she was sure she would fall and never rise again, Seros stopped and helped her sit on a boulder surrounded by a thicket of trees.

“We are here, my dear, but I fear the town of Haxley is not as safe as we would hope. Before we enter, we must get our stories straight. You are my wife, and we are travelling from Brayford looking for work. You do not speak unless someone asks you a question, and even then, speak lightly. One or two word answers, always with my Lord or my Lady after, regardless of who is talking.”

She rolled her eyes. “I am familiar enough with the courtesies we bray to the pompous, thank you, or have you forgotten that I am lowborn filth?”

A look of slight surprise flashed across his face. “Good enough. Follow me and never leave my side.” He grabbed his shoulder bag and began picking his way through the thicket.

The village walls were wooden and stretched at least thirty feet high. As they walked up to the gate, Seros winked at her. There were two towers on each side of the gate, both with archers posted, bows drawn. Seros banged his fist on the gate three times, and they waited there for a long moment. A slide about shoulder level opened up and a man’s eyes appeared.

“What’s your business?” His voice was gruff from smoke and ale.

Seros did not miss a beat. “We are travelers, my friend. Me and my wife look for food, drink and a bed for the night, if it is not too much trouble.”

“Aye, your name?”

“Seros, and this is Gertrude.” Selene shot him a perturbed look that he returned with a quick, boyish smile.

“A bed for two then is it? The inn is down the cobblestone to the right. The price is two coppers for the night, three for meat and mead as well.”

“It is much appreciated,” Seros said with a bow of his head.

The eyes nodded through the slit and then closed, out of view.

“Gertrude?” She said quietly, her dislike of the name obvious.

Seros shrugged and let out a soft chortle. A moment later the gate opened and the two of them went through.

“My name is Leland, and I am the Captain of the Guard here at Haxley. Have a nice stay sir, and you as well, my Lady.”

Seros nodded at the captain and walked briskly from the gate, down the cobblestone road, and to the small inn. It was a picture of dilapidation, streaked with water stains and faded by equal parts sun and wind. The color on the tiny sign had all but disappeared, leaving a bland image of a grey stag.