Shadow Weaver Book 2: Song of the Naga

CHAPTER 5

The following day the rains come. We ride through deep mud, drenched to the bone, unable to get warm. We are too miserable to hunt or gather, and so eat through our rations of  grain, dried herbs, and flowers.

As adequate as my new mare is, I regret Dancer's absence. I worry whether the thieves are treating my horse well. Every time we ride past a village or hamlet, I stretch out my mind, hoping I will find her. Though it is hard to distinguish the subtle differences between different horses' mind, after weeks of riding Dancer, she is as familiar to me as a friend's face, and I fantasize about discovering her tethered to a tree or post and riding away with her.

On the third day, as the Hybourg grows close enough to sense the vast swirl of hundreds of minds, the realization of where Tug has brought us is like a punch in the gut.

"What are we doing here?"

"What?" Tug wipes sheets of water pouring off his face. I can barely hear him. The rain drowns everything out.

I pull my mare to a stop, hold back the strands of wet hair all over my face with the crook of my arm and stare at the tavern. Nested on the top of a small hill, isolated in a sea of rolling countryside, the thatched roof is a dark fury coat reaching over the top floor of the  building. The lopsided walls are made from the black rock that is so popular in these parts.

The last time we arrived here, it was night.

Tug draws up to the stable, and a boy runs out. They shout at each other over the rain. Tug slips the boy a coin and steps under the over-hang of the roof to take shelter. He walks up to the side of the building and pushes open the front door. I urge my mare forward, greet the boy and hop off to follow.

The down-stairs of the tavern has one long main room, lit by a fire and lanterns on the tables. I step over the threshold, closing the door behind me. Tug stands by the bar, the bartender already pouring him ale. In my memories, I see the Prince sitting by the hearth with a book, and feel pinching in my chest. I look over at Tug. He knows this is the tavern where the Prince waited for us, after they had made their deal. The bartender hands him a jug of ale. He takes a swig, turning to stare at me. The look in his eyes makes me think he's come here to punish me for what I said about Sara and the baby.

I walk over to the fire and warm my hands. Rain water drips from the hem of my leather trousers and gathers in a pool around my boots. Tug asks for a room. The bartender goes into the back, and a minute later a tall, brittle-looking woman emerges. She nods at Tug, but when she sees me, her expression darkens. With disdain, she indicates we are to follow her upstairs.

At the top of the stairs, she opens the first room.

"If you want to use the fire place, it's an extra tuppence." She opens the room, stands aside, and presses the key into Tug's hand, before leaving.

"Making friends," I say, slinking inside. The walls are bleak; the bed a miserable, thin mattress; the chair by the hearth is hard and uncomfortable.

Tug locks the door behind us, then throws his saddle bag and backpack on the bed.

"We've got one hour."

My body sinks, and my face closes into a scowl. Then I realize why the woman was so disgusted, and I laugh.

"What?"

"She thought we were--" Tug glares at me. My smile drops, and my cheeks flame.

"Which is why you're going to cut your hair and bind yourself."