Ambush on the Road

A profound unease settled over Wells as he urged Solea forward. They had only just reached the periphery of Holtwood when Aria launched herself into the air, her form a fleeting shadow against the canopy. Wells guided his horse into the gloom beneath the trees and dismounted, trailing her at a distance. A moment later, she alighted on his shoulder, her tiny features etched with worry.

"Do you think Cirus will be all right?" she asked, her voice small.

"Yes," Wells said, though the word was a thin veil over the cold knot of doubt tightening in his gut.

A sudden, sharp gasp from Aria sent Wells spinning around. The abrupt motion sent the little bird squawking as she tumbled from her perch. In the middle of the road stood Cirus, dismounted from Situs and poised with his left hand held ready. He was cornered. His pursuers consisted of a woman with striking, severe features and two men, one towering over her and the other conspicuously short. The reason for Aria’s alarm became terrifyingly clear: the woman had drawn a blade and now pressed its point against Cirus’s throat.

"What's happening?" Wells whispered urgently.

"I don't know," Aria murmured, clambering back to the safety of his shoulder, "but it doesn’t look good."

"The blade at his throat is a fairly strong hint," Wells returned grimly.

Just then, Cirus raised his arm. A violet lance of flame erupted from his ring, licking at the woman's sword. She cried out, dropping the weapon as the magical fire heated it to an unbearable temperature. In retaliation, she threw her hands forward; a sharpened monolith of stone ripped from the earth and hurtled toward Cirus. He swatted it aside with a casual flick of his palm, redirecting its momentum to send it spinning into the woman’s temple. She crumpled, unconscious.

Her two companions charged, but Cirus dismissed them with a disdainful flick of his wrist. A shimmering wave of force blasted from his ring, sweeping them off their feet. They landed in a stunned heap. After a brief inspection of their motionless forms, Cirus passed his palm over them. An eerie violet light pulsed from his ring, bathing their bodies for a moment before vanishing. Without another glance, Cirus mounted Situs and spurred him into the woods. Wells, now well-practiced in mounting and dismounting, swung back into Solea’s saddle and rode out to join him, with Aria flying in their wake.

"Who were they?" Wells demanded.

"I have suspicions, nothing more," Cirus said with a sheepish air.

"Were they warlocks?"

"I believe so, though I have never known a woman to be one," Cirus mused. "She wore a ring, as did her men. It is... concerning that a woman can wield myran."

"Why?" Aria chirped, her tone sharp with indignation. "Don't you think a woman is capable of magic?"

Cirus glanced up at her, as if noticing her presence for the first time. "What? Of course not. This isn't a matter of equality. Women are incapable of drawing myran from the Greatwood because their minds are attuned to a different spectrum of magic than a man's."

Aria fell silent and remained so for the rest of the day. As if he judged them to be safe for the moment, Cirus slowed their pace. He resumed Wells’s training, once again making him attempt to form a rain cloud, but Wells met with the same lack of success.

"Calm yourself, Wells," Cirus said after the fifth failed attempt.

"I am calm!" Wells retorted, his frustration mounting. "I'm concentrating so hard my face is burning."

Cirus clenched his teeth, his brow furrowed. "Remember, when you draw from the Greatwood, think rain cloud. Picture it in your mind before you ever release the power from your body. Store the myran, then think rain."

Wells groaned in exasperation and tried again, with no more success than before. At last, Cirus held up a hand to stop him. Though he sounded displeased, he said, "I suppose that is enough for one day, Wells. We can try again tomorrow. I think it is time we stopped. If you look, we are nearing the road to Pelara."

He pointed to their left, where a wide dirt path, much like the Delanor Road, had appeared. A fair number of people traveled upon it, making their way to and from the village. "Why haven't we seen anyone until now?" Wells asked. "With this much traffic, we should have passed someone."

"We did," Cirus said darkly, "if you recall our encounter with the warlocks. But most people would have no reason to travel from Elara to Pelara. The more logical route is to follow the Cinian River north to Tor Alian."

"Oh," Wells said, and they rode on in silence.

When they joined the main road, Pelara was just a small, dark smudge on the horizon. The landscape offered little to the eye; it was a dreary stretch of unkempt scrub, punctuated by the occasional wildflower whose vibrant color seemed jarringly out of place. The ground was a drab, dusty brown, and even the sky overhead was a pale, washed-out grey, as if the very life had been bled from the land.

"Not much of a view, is it?" Wells said quietly to Aria, who now sat on the perch attached to his pack.

"No," she agreed. "This is where Cirus grew up?"

Wells shrugged. "Maybe the village itself is nicer."

"Let's hope so."

As they drew closer to Pelara, dusk began to fall. The stars were just beginning to prick the twilight sky by the time they reached the village gates. Compared to Tor Alian’s grand entrance, these were plain, manned by a single guard.

The gatekeeper was a toothless old man with a hunched back, slouched on a stool with a pipe in his mouth and a halo of smoke around his head. "Who goes there?" he rasped as they approached.

"Been sampling the ale again, haven't you, Fodrus?" Cirus said with a laugh.

The man, Fodrus, squinted, his eyes widening in recognition. "Cirus Crewe?"

"The one and only," Cirus confirmed. "I've come home, if only for a night."

Fodrus scrambled off his stool and began turning a crank, which set the gate mechanism in motion. "It's been a long time, Cirus," he said. "What have you been up to?"

"Oh, a bit of this and that," Cirus replied evasively. "But I felt it was time to return to Pelara for a visit. Tell me, how is Mariela?"

"She's been well," Fodrus said, the gate's rusty chains groaning loudly in the evening air as it creaked upward.

"Can you be more specific?"

"She's been very well," he said meaningfully. "Cirus, I don't follow her affairs. I only know what folks tell me on their way out." His gaze shifted warily to Wells. "Who's this?"

"My apprentice," Cirus announced. "He and I are in Pelara to hire a guard for our journey. Do you know if Elrin is around?"

"Aye," Fodrus answered. "He's down at the Blade and Band. Trying to woo the barmaid, I think."

Cirus shook his head. "Is he still chasing that girl?"

"Aye, the fool," Fodrus said with a grin. With a final crank, the gate was fully open. "Well, good to see you again, Cirus."

"You too, Fodrus," Cirus replied, leading Wells through the gate and into Pelara.

The town was not large. As far as Wells could see, a single main road carved through the community, flanked by squat, brown buildings with thatched roofs and hand-painted signs above the doors. He could make out a butcher, an apothecary, a bakery, and a toy shop. Halfway down the road stood the Blade and Band Inn.

It was a far more substantial structure than its neighbors, built of sturdy brick and rising at least three stories high. A massive oak tree grew beside it, its branches spreading like a protective canopy over the roof. The inn boasted a wide front porch with several rocking chairs and a finely polished main door. To the left of the entrance, a sign proclaimed in bold red letters: The Blade and Band Inn, Est. AE 507. Beneath the words was a painted image of a sword piercing a golden band.

Cirus dismounted from Situs. "Wait here," he said, and slipped inside. Wells caught a glimpse of a bright, bustling taproom before the door swung shut, muffling the sounds of music and raucous laughter that promised warmth and life within.

"I wonder who Elrin is," Wells mused aloud.

"I hope he's a good guard," Aria said. "After meeting those warlocks today, I have no desire for a repeat encounter." She shifted nervously on her perch, then flew to Wells’s shoulder. "I'm not sure I want to go in there."

"Why not?" Wells asked, surprised. "It's just an inn."

"It's not the inn, it's the building," she clarified. "I've never been inside one before. I don't think I'll like the feeling of being trapped."

"It's not like that," Wells said gently.

"You're in a box!" Aria insisted. "Buildings are just fancy boxes!"

Wells chuckled. She has a point, he thought.

Just then, the door opened and Cirus stepped back out, a broad grin on his face. "Come on, you two," he announced. "I've arranged everything for us."

"What about the horses?" Wells asked. "We can't just leave them!"

"As I said, I have it all arranged," Cirus repeated, gesturing for them to come onto the porch.

Aria shot Wells a dubious look. "I'll go," she conceded, "but I'm not going to like it."

"Thank you," Wells said with relief.

"I'm not sleeping inside," she added quickly. "I can sleep in that tree if you leave your window open."

"Alright, fair enough," he replied. "Now, come on. Cirus is waiting." They hurried up the steps, onto the porch, and followed Cirus into the Blade and Band Inn.