Delay and Discovery

Kaelen and Brennel shifted from foot to foot, spears poised, ready to spring into furious battle.

The shades, however, only stood in half-rest, gazes fixed upon them. Not a step further.

“What’s happening?” Red whispered. Her arm ached already from holding the sword aloft; even mounted on Kestrel, she knew she could not remain ready for long.

They waited in baffled silence, scarcely able to believe the shade host had halted mere steps from trampling them down.

“Maybe…” Kaelen began, loosening his grip on the spear haft, “…the Stenvar Arch marks the beginning of Common Ground. Maybe… they can’t cross it?” His own words were laden with doubt.

At that moment, movement stirred in the host. From far below, a great shape was rising. The soldiers parted ranks to let it pass. A dragon –wingless, but vast– climbed steadily through their midst. The press of bodies slowed it, but nothing hindered its advance.

Red’s breath caught. She knew this beast. She had seen it roaming near Tarlmere days before, had warned Elias and Fawks of it. For an instant she thought of them. Surely by now they had been swallowed up by the same darkness that had consumed Tarlmere. Her thoughts raced to Roric, to the guards who had fallen defending their people’s escape.

“Maybe he can cross it,” Brennel muttered, pointing at the dragon.

“Let’s not wait to find out,” Red snapped. “Come on – we must catch the others. This delay may be enough.”

At once both men obeyed. They scrambled to mount the horse Lameth had earlier passed to Kaelen, which had strayed a little ways off.

The three of them wheeled and galloped away.

♦♦♦

It was a long, weary road before them, until at last they came upon a deserted inn.

The building slouched at the roadside, its roof sagging in places, shutters broken or hanging loose, and dust lying thick across the threshold. A signboard creaked faintly in the breeze, its paint long faded beyond recognition, but the carved letters could still be made out: The Lone Haven.

It was late afternoon now.

“Good!” Bard exclaimed, dropping onto a weathered bench by the porch beneath a cracked window. “That means we’ll reach Teranbrath tonight!”

“Good,” Elias echoed, dryly, standing near the road, his gaze fixed ahead toward their destination.

Fawks and Cecile followed them to the inn – Cecile to sit, Fawks to explore. He circled the building, peering through windows where shutters had fallen or hung half open. The glass was smeared with grime, and within all was shadow.

“We won’t find the Warden in Teranbrath,” Bard remarked to Elias – though his tone carried the sting of “you won’t find what you’re looking for,” half needling him on purpose. Bard wanted to provoke Elias, perhaps in the hope of stirring him back to his old self.

Cecile shot Bard a sharp look, displeased. She knew his intent, but rarely agreed with his methods.

“Where then?” Elias asked, curious. “Orrendale?”

“Most likely,” Bard answered, and their talk went on. Fawks, circling the far side of the inn, couldn’t hear the rest. He found only silence and the sense of a place long past its prime.

Completing his circuit, he caught sight of a very narrow balcony jutting from the upper floor along the roadward side. Its shutter tapped lightly in the faint breeze. Not much wind stirred – but Fawks thought he saw a curtain flutter briefly outside. Which meant the window must be open.

He launched upward and landed softly on the balcony. The wood groaned beneath his weight, the brittle sound of boards long unused. From the front porch came a murmur of voices – an argument? No, it had already ebbed to Cecile’s calmer tones.

Before him the curtain indeed flapped outward. The balcony door stood ajar, perhaps nudged open by the breeze. A shiver passed over Fawks. Still, curiosity outweighed caution. He ducked inside, stepping carefully.

The curtain veiled his sight until he was fully within, and even then there was nothing to see – pitch dark. He closed his eyes a moment, then reopened them slowly, forcing them to adjust. Somewhere in the stillness he thought he heard a footstep echo his own. For an instant he considered retreat. But it was the whole house that creaked and whispered, shutters clapping gently here and there.

He found himself in a straight corridor, doors lining each side – two on the left, three on the right. Guest rooms, no doubt. The air was stale, heavy with dust and old wood, with a faint tang of rot beneath it.

The corridor ended at the top of a stairwell to the left. A railing separated the end of the corridor from the steps, forming a small, inner balcony that must have overlooked the inn’s main hall below. The last door on the right stood ajar, with a trickle of light spilling through – likely from a hole in the roof or a half-shuttered window. But Fawks decided to check the other rooms first.

The first door left – an empty, dust-laden chamber with a single bed frame. The first right – locked. He padded on.

Meanwhile, outside:

“What do you mean you don’t know the world outside?” Elias asked, incredulous.

“This is the world outside, for me!” Bard shot back, almost with frustration. “I have no memory of any other place you speak of!”

“Wait,” Cecile broke in quickly, “look, maybe– ”

“AAAAAH!”
Her words were cut short by a cry from within the inn.

“Fawks!” Cecile exclaimed, springing up at once. The others were already in motion, bursting through the inn’s front door. It yielded too easily, crashing open to reveal the gloom inside.

Dust swirled in shafts of light. The silence that followed was almost worse than the scream.