1st Draft Fridays - A Fistful of Air: Book #5, Chronicles of Marsdenfel

Year 232 of the Bynding - The Realm of Salles, around Summer Solstice - post 10

The building that's our destination stands out even among its surroundings—its lower windows are boarded over, and there's a painted sign nailed over the front door: Closed for renovations.

Considering I can't read the next lines, I expect it's repeating the message in seafarthen and...some other languages, though I'm uncertain what.

Lallie leads the way around the building, hopping over some cracked bricks that litter the walkway. As we reach the side door, she clicks her tongue, and then she raps in a quick pattern against the doorjamb.

The door is quickly unlatched and opened, and the man steps back almost immediately to let us in. Lallie and I enter the dimly lit interior.

The man stays on the far side of the room from me, as if avoiding me. His very skin is dark, maybe even darker than my mother's hair was, but his eyes are a bright, rich blue that makes me think of the sea—but that might be his magic, which is so quietly solid that I'm sure he's an elemental.

A red-haired girl of about Lallie's age is between us. Her patchwork dress is obviously designed that way, with fresh fabrics that are solid and pretty without being extravagant, and her hair hair is tied haphazardly out of the way with some ribbon. She isn't as lean as Lallie, and I suspect the lace choker she wears means something.

The girl is watching the man, as if waiting for his cue.

"Wight," Lallie says, and the way she stresses it makes me suspect she means the word for the creature rather than for the color.

The girl gives Lallie a quick smile before turning back to the man and saying something to him in another language.

The man answers in a voice that's a rumble, low in volume and pitch. He moves his head and nothing else as he looks between Wight and me. "May the gardens bless your feet."

Both the children look puzzled, and even I am surprised by his choice of greeting—it's both archaic and an example of how translation loses nuances in meaning, because that blessing does not mean what it sounds in mountaineer. "That's an old one."

He smiles a little. "I apologize for my intrusion, but we don't have the wards set up yet."

"You are a warder?" I ask, though I'm pretty sure he isn't. Why else would they need someone else to do it?

"No, but we will use my magic to anchor them." He glances at the two children, as if uncomfortable, before returning his gaze to me. "I am Barun."

Wight, then, is the half-sister that Mataine won't be telling her husband about unless her master gives her reason to do so. Despite knowing that this man has at least one slave, his presence doesn't render me as uncomfortable as it should.

I incline my head in greeting. "Thank you for your hospitality and willingness to shield me."

"I have little to fear from humans," Barun answered, "and the artifact that gives the King of Grehafen such power over your people cannot affect me. It would be cruel and selfish of me to refuse to give you aid."

I glance to Wight, his human child slave.

"Again, I have little to fear from your brother." He looks to Lallie. "The room for Her Majesty is open, but not yet set up. Would you go do that?"

It's so obviously a request that I wonder what he'd do if Lallie stayed. She, though, nods and heads up the stairs.

I rest my arms against my stomach and keep my breathing level. I'm closest to the exit, and the girl wouldn't leave me with them if she didn't trust them.