The Claw, Ceristen Series #3

Chapter 2

Fred stood silently by the rail of the little boat as the riverbanks slid past. They had made good time, the captain of the craft told him, since hitting the Dirion River. Now, six days into their journey from Ceristen, he, Mordred and Jared should be docking at Cobren by evening.

He did not know quite how he felt about the journey so far. It was odd to be idle all the time, after so many weeks spent day after day in hard labour, dawn to dusk. It did not sit quite right in his mind to think that left behind in Ceristen, his family continued to earn their bread with the same difficulty as before.

They were not the only passengers on the boat; there was a old man traveling to his son's house in Mattadon, south of Delgrass, and two young men who said they were sailing as far as the south borders of Mattadon, the extremity of the boat's journey, whence they would find passage on another down to the coast of the sea. Other than that, they spoke very little about their travels or indeed anything at all. The older man was eager to talk, but only about the politics of Mattadon and Delgrass.

So the three from Ceristen had kept mostly to themselves. But Fred, who longed ever for exercise of mind if not body, had found the others poor companions as well. Jared answered his remarks obediently but briefly, without interest, and as for Mordred, something seemed to be disturbing him. Fred often saw him lost in thought, his brows drawn in a look of pensive worry which hardened into impassivity if he knew anyone was watching.

The noon sun soaked the deck in warm rays, heating the back of his neck. Fred turned and walked to Mordred, who stood nearby.

"Mordred," he said softly, "what is troubling you?"

Mordred's eyes jerked away from the white shoreline, fastening sharply on Fred. He seemed about to deny it, but simply stood, his lips tight. At last he spoke, so quietly that it was all Fred could do to hear him.

"Memories," he said. "That is all."

Maybe it was the truth, Fred thought, looking at him searchingly. Mordred sighed a little and wheeled to walk down the deck.

But something rang awry in the words. It was not the whole truth.

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"No, we don't want a carriage, thank you." Mordred snapped the words out coldly, clearly losing patience with the wiry, unwashed man who had been pestering them for the past ten minutes, ever since they had disembarked onto the quiet docks.

"But masters, I can take you wherever you desire to go. Not many a hired carriage you'll find as good as mine, and my horse can get you as far as the border of Rehirne by midnight."

"We are not going to Rehirne," Mordred said angrily; a warning flashed in his eyes. Fred could see that his temper was dangerously near cracking. "We are going to the nearest inn."

"And I can take you there too, good masters."

"No." Fred stepped forward. "Thank you, but we do not want any carriage. We are well accustomed to walking, and that we shall do."