Gilded Serpents

Chapter Forty-Seven: Approaching the Pass

By morning we had made it to a small but high-fenced encampment. And upon offering up some of our many supplies, we were granted entrance to the bustling corral. There were about a dozen horses, most of which seemed to have seen better days, along with two disheveled griffins ready for rent or outright purchase. Aixel remained outside, not wanting to cause any commotion, so only Cylie joined me as we walked the narrow muddy path toward the only shop in the tiny outpost.

Other than the crooked main shop and stable, long held together with ancient stone and mud, there were two other small buildings, possibly hosting the handful of weathered residents. There were a couple of camps also at the front, already packing their things to continue on their journey, whether it be to the underground or the other outlying camps that were scattered throughout the Barrens. They seemed scared, suspicious and drained, and I tried to not meet their eyes.

"Is that little Cylie I see?" shouted a boisterous voice from the crooked shop window.

Cylie made an excited gasp and ran forward, pushing past the confused and weary travelers before us. I jogged behind her, trying to keep up.

There was an old man at the window, arms crossed tight as he leaned over the stand's gray wooden counter. His round face beamed, and eyes crinkled in their corners as Cylie jumped up the crooked steps with a single spritely bound.

She slammed her palm on the counter.

"Sixty-seven gold? For those things?" she shouted, gesturing to the equally crooked horses.

"Now, now, quiet little girl," he shushed her, "The next batch of horses are five days' walk from here. You can try your luck there, be my guest, but sixty-seven gold will seem like a steal by then."

Cylie leaned back, rolling her eyes.

"Most of these horses would be dead in five days anyway."

The old man grumbled, tugging at his wiry beard.

"Also - what's a distinguished merchant like yourself doing so far west? Thought you'd have better business with us unsavories?" she jabbed.

"Your lot's a bit easier to please than those uppity ones at the port," he laughed, "That and my little Lynxie decided he wanted to bring a bloody girl back from the dead when he was sleepin' and a silly little necklace seemed to appear around his neck when he woke."

Behind him, in the shade of the room, a young man raised his head and turned to us, rolling his eyes as he continued to shuffle through a stack of papers.

"Hiya little Lynxie," teased Cylie with a playful wave.

"'Hiya' Cylie the clubfoot," sneered the boy, not looking up from his work.

"Not anymore, Little Lynxie. A little magic in my lungs and I was up and running, good as new. You should try it some time - might get rid of whatever pox is affecting your face," Cylie jeered with a smile.

The boy only shook his head in response, nostrils flared.

The old man laughed, seemingly amused at the banter.

"Who's your friend?" he asked, gesturing at me.

"Oh, this is Mira," Cylie smiled, "We're on our way to Twin Trees. She killed a dragonrider, so don't even think of pulling any funny business."

"Of course she did," said the old man, shaking his head and smiling, "So do you need a horse or not? You're holding up business."

Cylie gestured to the empty space behind us.