Stormchild: Emeline and the Forest Mage

41 Kleintjie's Inn

Kieperwind, Erdil

   When the party had eaten some hard bread and cheese, they travelled for a few hours up a dusty road that became narrower the farther they walked. Soon it was scarcely more than an animal trail through rocky hills with sparse shrubbery. Though the wind howled its incessant song, the sun beat down on them and burned their skin, particularly those with softer skin like the lordling. A small village came into view - a scattering of rickety wooden structures on a dusty plain past which a much larger mountainous area towered.

    'There's the GrootKanon.' The Mage pointed at the mountains.

    Emeline moaned in Avétk's arms and he adjusted his grip under her slump body. Her head against his chest felt warm, it felt right having her there even though her slack limbs put a chill in his bones. The Mage glanced at Avétk as if he expected a response, but Avétk only grunted.

    Their travel resumed its morbid silence, the kind that brews with things unsaid, with dread for what was to come. Nobody wanted to talk about where they were going or what they would face, or for that matter if they would survive. From time to time Färin mumbled to himself about Sheyå or the bloody heat, but Avétk and the others treated it as they treated the scuttering of little creatures between the rocks - with pointed disinterest.

    Denirya held her hands together in the sleeves of her coat, and Avétk wondered how she could bear the heat inside that heavy thing. Ketiya held a staff in her hand, just a dried branch really, but with it she jabbed at sand to search for sand vipers, and tapped rocks in their path to check for scorpions. Everyone seemed content to let her walk ahead. A thorough and wise woman, that. Why couldn't he have fallen for her instead?

    When the sun was three quarters of the way through the sky on its way to the west, they made it down the slope of the hillside and stopped under a tree to share a water skin. The lordling looked pink behind the ears, and an outright blood red on his neck and nose. The pained look on his face was comic enough to make Avétk forget his own troubles for a moment.

    Ketiya offered to carry Emeline for the next stretch, and Avétk begrudged her this privilege only because he knew what quality of person she was. They traded places, and Avétk led the party. With quiet determination they set out again, intent on reaching the little town in the centre of the plain before nightfall. Though Avétk only knew Ketiya well enough, he found himself comfortable in the silence, listening only to the the rhythm of feet and watching the skies.

    When they reached the town, it looked deserted. There couldn't have been more than twelve wooden structures in the entire place, and the stretch of dirt road that cut through the town was empty but for a bush of tumbleweed rolling past them. A sign above one of the buildings, faded and cracked, read, 'Kleintjie's'. The Mage cocked his head at it, and Avétk nodded. So they were heading for this inn.

    The landing creaked as they stepped onto it, stamping their boots clean of dust. Avétk pushed through the swinging doors of the inn and found a quiet room, an old man sitting at a bar, and another man pointing a crossbow straight at his heart. The innkeeper. Out of instinct, Avétk's hand lifted to the scabbard of his short sword. It was a mistake.

    The crossbow released the arrow tipped bolt, and it spiralled towards him. Without a thought, he moved his shoulder out of the bolt's way, and felt that familiar lethargy building inside him. This man wanted death? The best person for it would be the Blackblood Cleaver. Avétk felt the odd sensation of black inking over his eyes, but a hand rested on his shoulder, and Farin whispered into his ear.

    'Let it go, remember Emeline.'

    That snapped him right out of it, and he dropped his hands.