Lifeblood

Chapter 11

A single peak rose in the distance, capped with white and draped in green and brown. It stood as the last crest of the Mondrian mountain range; the rest of which expanded northeast and severed the Arasil Forest from Mondré. And there, at the junction where the river twisted from its northern course at a near right angle, the roots of the mountain anchored deep into the earth and cradled a city carved from the same gray stone that protected it, with two walls hewn in a semicircle, one to the east and one to the west.

But impressive as Halridge was, it was not the city that caught Mary's eye.

In front of the massive gate, but with plenty of space for the road, a bridge solid as the earth stretched across the river in a true feat of architecture. The Forest of Impressions crept achingly close to the bridge, saplings claiming land that was once theirs. The highest branches loomed from deep inside the vegetation, and if one squinted they might find they were a shade . . . bluer than the younger saplings. They stood as a reminder—the forest was alive.

The mountains became larger, Haldrige became closer, and the city's imperfections became clearer.

Scars littered the east wall, remnants of old wounds that, although repaired, never fully healed. A corner of the gate was completely rebuilt, the damage clear where a jagged edge met newer, solid stone.

Within the walls, the city's scars were less visible. The castle itself had no obvious signs of recent warfare, but Mary had no in-depth knowledge on the raid as to know how much damage was truly wrought.

"Is that from the Cursed?" Rike shielded his eyes with an arm, soaking in the scene.

Harsh sunlight bounced off the gray stone of the city and Mary's eyes watered. "Could be an aesthetic choice," she suggested.

"Really, Mary?" Rike's nose scrunched in false irritation.

"Yes, the damage is from the Haldridge Raid," Harrison confirmed. Since the first peak came into view yesterday evening, he had been clutching the hilt of his sword on and off, and now that they were near the gates of the city, his knuckles were almost the same shade as the ivory of the crossguard.

He sucked in a rattling breath, then whispered, almost as if he was talking to himself, "They took us by surprise . . ."

Rike and Mary shared a glance, but made no comment.

Harrison guided his horse around a cluster of dead bushes, and Mary and the others fell in line while branches and twigs reached out to snag at their clothes.

They reached the main road that linked Haldridge to Bregain, passing carts and people moving in and out of the city. The gates hung open, wide and inviting, though Mary did not miss the guards patrolling on high towers, observing them from above.

"Does anyone mind if we stop early? I need to buy a few things." Harrison pulled on the reins, turning his horse so he could see his traveling companions.

Mary shrugged, looking at Rike.

"I'm for it." Hyra picked at her fingernails and bit one off.

No one disagreed, so they followed Harrison through the gates.

Some of the buildings stood atop older foundations, but most matched the age of the city itself, with a steadiness that not even war could change. Its grays were a lovely backdrop to the reds, yellows, and pale blues adorning the men and women, and occasionally Mary passed a wall decorated in swirling colors, recently painted to display daisies and foxglove, dancers and musicians.

Harrison dismounted outside of a building, two columns framing its cedarwood doors. A fence barred entry to the small courtyard surrounding the structure, but there was no lock on the gate. "There's an inn called the Fiery Thorn five levels up, one street west." He pointed to his left. "Tell them you're with Harrison Bone, and I'll meet you there in a few hours."