Bastion of Sun

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

A Blade Coated in Blood

Dogs loped across Gray's path. The smell of horses and fish filled his nose. To put it mildly, it was a pungent, unappealing scent that stuck in Gray's nostrils ever since they'd entered the city of Aberton. All about Gray, guards in black tabards with orange flames cast wary glances, making him want to sneer in reply. The streets were unusually packed and only upon entering them did he remember why. Today was the Day of Trade. From his memories he knew it well. A day once every year when all could sell their wares and gave supposed discounts. It brought a flood of people, sightseers, deal seekers, and a plethora of makeshift merchants to even this middling town. Aberton was normally a strict, medium-sized city on the outskirts of Farbs, but today it could have been mistaken for Covai. Markets and small stands were set up in every spare scrap of space, reducing traffic to a crawl but creating a strange blend of sights, smells and sounds.

Again, most notably to Gray, the pungent smell of fish.

Sidestepping a hound on a leash that peed onto the cobblestones, Gray pointed ahead. "There." The sign read Gunthar's Tack and Feed, just as the guard at the entrance had indicated. Beneath was a painted red horse, poorly rendered, munching contentedly out of a trough. A larger sign swung beneath it. "NO CALLERS."

"You really think it's going to be there?" Darius asked, pulling him back to the moment.

Gray swallowed down his surge of emotions—disgust, hesitancy, even anger toward the archwolf and its food of choice—and simply shrugged. "No idea. But it's our best bet. If not, the owner may know where we can find one."

Darius scrubbed a hand through his hair, looking uncomfortable. "I can't believe we're going through with this."

"What other choice do we have?"

"Are you certain that's what it told you?"

Gray nodded with a shiver. The image flashed again. White. Meat. And he wondered why. It seemed strange... something didn't add up, but without knowing what, Gray had no choice but to obey.

"Then it's what we have to do. We just have to figure out a way to pay for it, seeing as it's worth a kingdom," Darius said.

"Or commandeer once more," Gray said.

This time Darius didn't smile or laugh. He made an awkward grimace, hiding a shudder himself, and they strode forward. Gray tugged his threadbare Devari cloak closer, hobbling toward the splintered sign.

Time's wasting away, my death looms, and we're getting food for a mount, of all things.

It'd been ten days hard riding, stopping only to catch a quick night's rest. There was little to no conversation as they focused grimly on their destination. What they had to do was obvious, there was no room for debate, and even talking seemed a waste of time. Every morsel of Gray's attention was focused forward. That, and because Gray was stuck in his own morose thoughts.

Darius seemed content to let him be. Not always, of course. From time to time, he'd feel his friend's lingering gaze. Gray would remain huddled in his cloak before their campfire, silent, feeling Darius' empathy like a tangible thing hanging in the air. This exchange was obvious. Darius wanted to help but he couldn't. And Gray wanted to tell him something, to help dispel his friend's fear, or even tell him off, but he couldn't. And so Darius' eyes would drop and he'd return to whittling or stoking their pitiful fire or the like.

Darius sometimes told quick stories as they fell asleep. Little tales he'd heard from the inns of Lakewood. Mostly to keep Gray distracted. But it never worked. Gray's mind was plagued like his body. He found sleep difficult, tossing, turning, and sweating each night. Like a fire's afterimage, visions of Faye flashed in his head. And every waking moment was spent staring into the distance, waiting to catch a glimmer of the Citadel on the horizon, urging the archwolf's great, golden wings to press even swifter than it already did.