The Fifth Star - Chapter 12 (2/2) - Separation

“Greetings!” the merchant straightened from his relaxed lean against his cart at Darius’s approach, “A fine day, innit?”

“Indeed it is,” he replied, glancing up into the cloudless sky, “Tell me, do you only sell your skins as-is, or have you any items you’ve sewn?”

“Ah, my wife’s a fair hand with stitchin’, I’ve got bags and the like in my other cart,” he indicated another cart nestled in behind the first that Darius hadn’t noticed before, “Somethin’ in particular you were needin’?”

“A sizeable travel bag; a good one, sturdy as can be. And a bedroll, if you have any of those?” He added the latter as an afterthought, recalling how he sometimes woke to the sound of Elowyn’s shivering in the night.

“Pardon my intrusion, sir, but I’ve never seen your face around these parts. Where do you hail from, if you don’t mind my askin’?”

“Valterik,” Darius lied easily.

“I see. And you came all this way without supplies?”

Nosy bugger, isn’t he? “I had my possessions stolen, just a day or so’s walk outside of the city,” he told the merchant, who squinted at him with a hint of suspicion, “Managed to keep my coin though,” Darius hastily added with a wry smile and a pat of his pocket to set the coins there to jingling.

“Sorry to hear 'bout your misfortune,” the man answered, distracted momentarily by the sound of money. “Prolly one o’ them refugees that done it,” he muttered as he turned away to sort through his wares.

Refugees? Did some people make it out of Kierton? Darius made to ask what the merchant had meant by that, but he continued to prattle on jovially and talk up the sights of the city so fast he couldn’t get a word in edgewise. By the time he stopped talking and had retrieved the items in question from his cart, the moment had passed. Considering the prying tendencies this man had displayed, Darius let it go easily, tucking it away for later. I’m sure I can get the details of that in the tavern.

“Here they are!” the merchant exclaimed dramatically, closing the few-pace gap between them with his arms bearing a bag and a large, tied bundle. He held the bag out to Darius for inspection, and it was indeed a finely-crafted piece: double-layered stitching held together every seam and pockets of various sizes covered the outer surface. He took the bag and looked it over with his approval plain.

“Exactly what I need, thank you,” he set it down gingerly on top of the cart of leathers and pointed at the bundle in his arms, “And is that a bedroll?”

“Yessir,” the man began pulling at the straps that held it together, and when it was free of its bonds, it too was of much better construction than the one Elowyn had been using up to this point. The outer layer was a shiny, smooth leather that would surely hold up to heavy use, and the inside was thoroughly coated in a layer of fur. Darius reached inside to feel the quality, prompting the salesman to explain further, “The outside’s some o’ my best leather, won’t let in a drop of water what with all the oils I worked into it. The fur is rabbit, soft as can be and durable to boot. A man would have a hard job gettin’ cold sleepin’ in that.”

“To be sure. I’ll have them both,” Darius reached into the pocket, pulled out a handful of coins, “how much do I owe you?”

The merchant gave him a figure, and though it was fairly steep he paid the sum gladly. He gave the man his compliments to pass on to his wife, secured the roll to the bag and moved on to find more supplies.

A few hours later the pack was stuffed full. He’d managed to buy everything they needed: more rations, waterskins, a lantern and the oil to go with it, some grain to supplement the grazing that had sufficed so far for the horses but would soon not be enough with winter’s bite growing in the air. He’d even found a set of black clothing similar to his own but substantially smaller to fit Elowyn’s petite frame, along with some soft boots and a cloak that he figured should fit. In a fine mood and much lighter of coin than before he’d entered the city, he headed towards the same alehouse his parents had always stopped at when they came here - the Crossroads Tavern & Inn.

Despite its name, the tavern no longer rested at a crossroads, but rather in the northern tip of the city. It had once been the only place to stay close to the then-unnamed settlement many a year ago, but over time Reivic had grown and swallowed the place into its expanding borders. The name had always stuck though, drawing attention to the establishment’s origins and how long it had stood. When Darius arrived outside the door he was hit with a wave of nostalgia - the inn made half of stone due to repairs from a long-past fire, the ancient carved sign still hanging over the doorway and painted over gods knew how many times. He remembered with a pang of mournful longing how his parents had always brought him inside, bought him a mug of cider for good behaviour while they caught up with old friends. He pushed the thought aside and the door open, entering the warm room with a grateful sigh.

Though the tavern had always done good business, he was surprised to find that there was nary an empty seat in the whole place, once his eyes had adjusted to the dim light inside. People sprawled everywhere, the smell of unwashed bodies and despair so thick in the air he nearly choked on it. No matter where he directed his gaze it fell on unfortunate people, drowning themselves in tankards. I guess the woodsman merchant was telling the truth about refugees. He crossed the room self-consciously, with many curious eyes set upon him, over to the bar where a large muscled man was serving drinks. Darius leaned against the polished wooden surface and waited patiently for the barkeep to notice him.

“What’ll it be?” he asked of him once he did come over to serve him, his expression taut and worried.

“Just a pint of ale, if you would,” Darius requested as he set coins worth at least thrice that on the bar, “and keep the change.”

The barkeep gave him a small smile and a nod of thanks before bustling off. He returned spare moments later with a frothy tankard in one hand. He set it down, pocketed the coin and was about to walk away when Darius leaned in close, asking in a hushed voice, “Where have all these people come from? What’s happened?”

The bartender looked incredulous. “You mean you don’t know?” Darius shook his head in response and the man’s eyebrows shot up even further. He opened his mouth as if to answer, then squinted hard at him instead. Up so close, the effect was rather intimidating. “You ain’t one of those Empire spies are you? Trying to make the common folk say something they shouldn’t?”

“No, no. Just a man not from these parts looking for a bit of news. I’ve been out preparing for winter you see, came here to sell some excess and catch up.”

“All right,” the barkeep responded after a few more moments of his stony glare, “I believe ya. Don’t look like much trouble, anyway.” He peered up and down the bar to check for eavesdroppers, then spoke in a near whisper, “A few weeks ago, Tibori sent a whole unit of his army to Kierton to collect taxes they were short. From the stories people have been tellin’, their elder refused to hand over the part of the harvest that was due, offered less to them so his own people wouldn’t starve. But the general, Mortil? Martel? - I forget the name exactly, but he wanted it all, refused the offer.”

Though he knew already, he asked it anyway, wanting to know as much as possible before they headed that way, “What happened next?”

“They burned it. General called the attack and the soldiers burned the entire village to the ground. From what I hear, no one survived. These are all people who fled other places nearby, before they could be next.”

Without any sort of preamble, a strange sensation washed over him. He couldn’t explain it, but it felt as if something or someone was urging him southward. It tugged at him insistently as if he were a hound at the end of a master’s leash, and though no words accompanied it somehow he knew it had to do with Elowyn. The feeling only escalated, urging him with unseen hands, an unheard voice.

“I-I have to go,” he managed to blurt out in response through lips that were suddenly numb with fear, “Thanks for the drink.” He stood suddenly, sending the stool he had been sitting on skittering across the floor behind him to land with a crash that attracted the attention of every set of eyes in the building. Darius dashed headlong for the door and threw it open without delay, escaping the confining atmosphere.     

Though he much despised rushing into unknown circumstances, the urgency of the call was impossible to ignore and within what was actually only a mere moment of hesitation he flew into action. He scaled the building and ran full tilt across the rooftop, leapt across the gap to the next, landing smoothly on his feet and continuing without delay. Over the years Darius had been sent on so many reconnaissance and assassination jobs that the act of crossing a city quickly and above people’s notice was pure instinct, his muscles doing the work for him with little conscious input. He’d always found it entertaining, how easy it was to escape notice whilst being so exposed, but the fact of the matter was the average person never thought to look up. It made this type of thing so much simpler.

As he drew closer to where the magic pulled him he realized with a sinking heart that where he was heading was most certainly not outside the city’s walls but firmly within them. The sensation increased even more to where it would have been impossible to ignore even if he tried, and this combined with his previous realization lent an edge of desperation to his pace, his strides lengthening and consuming more of the remaining distance with each step.

He drew closer to the source, the glow of green that connected the two of them bright as mage-fire as it reached the peak of its call. Then as suddenly as it had started, the feeling ceased entirely, but this lent Darius no peace. Elowyn! he screamed inwardly, continuing to follow their bond until he could pinpoint her location, not three streets away. There was only one small comfort here; if she were dead, he assumed the bond would be severed, so at least he could be assured that she still drew breath.

It led him to an old house at the end of a narrow alley. It was clearly abandoned, in a poor state of repair and when he peered down he could see the front door was boarded shut. He assessed all sides of the building with haste, hopping to neighbouring roofs to gain clearer vantages. There was a second door in the back, this one unboarded, but not knowing what he was up against it would be foolish to enter through the only obvious exit route. He had spied a shuttered window on the front side though, and that seemed to be the best option.

With practiced grace Darius hopped down onto the dirt street in front of the shabby home. He sent a surreptitious glance up the road in either direction to check for pursuers or guards and saw not a soul. His muscles bunched taut and ready and he flung himself crashing through the brittle window covering, landing inside the dark room in a shower of wooden splinters. Before he’d even completed his diving roll he’d drawn his two long daggers from his waist, brandishing them in either hand, ready for whatever sight would greet him.

It was not one he anticipated.