Chapter 15

“Was it really necessary to leave so gods damned early?” Sam groused, hugging her horse’s neck. It was a poor replacement for a pillow. “It’s not even light out yet.” “Yes, it was necessary,” said Tristan. “And we would have left earlier if I hadn’t had to physically drag you out of bed like a spoiled babe.” “Two hours of sleep is not humane.” “If you were looking to be coddled, boy, you’ve come to the wrong place.” “Children, children,” Braeden murmured with a hint of a smile. Tristan and Sam glared at him in unison. “It’s your fault we had to leave at this ungodly hour,” Sam complained. “If it weren’t for you--” she choked off her words as she realized what she’d said. “Gods, Braeden, I didn’t mean it!” Braeden wouldn’t look at her. “It’s fine,” he said, his tone flat. “Ya!” he shouted, urging his horse into a gallop. Tristan and Sam watched as Braeden slowed his horse to a trot, still in eyesight but far enough away that he wouldn’t be able to hear them. “You’re an idiot,” said Tristan. “I know,” she replied miserably. Gods damn her sleep-addled, insensitive brain. Dawn broke over the horizon, the orange of the sun painting stripes of pink and purple against the fading indigo of the night sky. The dirt road they traveled was deserted; the nearest village was still miles away and The Center was now a tiny speck in the distance. Sam had passed through this land before as she made her way from Haywood to The Center, but in the shadowed glow of dawn, it was unrecognizable. Braeden still plodded on ahead, his back ramrod straight, and Tristan was too disgusted with her to talk. With no one but her horse to keep her company, Sam was hit by an unexpected wave of loneliness. They traveled in silence for several more hours, interrupted only by the thud of hooves against packed ground and the rustling of leaves as the wind whistled through the trees. Sam almost cried for joy when she saw the top of a picket fence and thatched roofs in the distance. People, Sam thought happily. People who talked. Braeden drew his horse to a stop when the village was in clear sight, waiting for Sam and Tristan to catch up to him. He’d donned a conical straw hat, the brim pulled low over his eyes. With only the bottom of his lower lashes visible, he looked like a foreign young lord come to visit the countryside. “We’re just passing through, lads,” Tristan warned them as they neared the village gate, blessedly breaking the silence. “We’ve got miles to go before nightfall.” Though it was only a few hours past dawn, the small village of Gwent was already bustling with activity. The local merchants stood behind their stalls in the market square, hawking their wares to any and every passerby within earshot. The smell of fresh ginger bread wafted in the air from the bakery, and the steady pounding of mallet against cowhide resonated from the leathermaker’s shop. Women in their long woolen gowns and wimples clustered around the village well, trading gossip while they waited their turn to draw water, and the children played games at their mothers' feet. “Paladin Lyons!” a voice cried in greeting. A round little man waddled over to their horses, a wide smile plastered on his sweaty face. “Master Collop, it’s good to see you,” Tristan acknowledged. “Dare I hope that you will spend the night? It’s good for business when I can claim a Paladin among my patrons.” Tristan shook his head. “Not tonight. But I wouldn’t say no to a bite of breakfast before we continue on our way.” “Of course, of course,” the innkeeper said. “Will your companions want to breakfast as well?” Sam’s stomach rumbled in anticipation. “I’ll take that as a yes,” Master Collop chuckled. “Right this way.” The Laughing Bear had earned its name. Even at this early hour, the inn was near to full, and the sounds of laughter and merriment were infectious. A group of young men hooted and hollered at a kitchen maid, a pretty slip of a girl with the voice of an angel, who was singing atop a table. Sam tapped her good foot in time to the music, until she got a better listen at the bawdy lyrics. As they wound their way around the inn to the nearest empty table, they were stopped a half dozen times. Everyone seemed to have something to say to Tristan, whether it was to tell him about the birth of a new foal or the latest village scandal. A few of the men were bent on introducing Tristan to their daughters, but he politely declined their entreaties. Braeden kept his eyes downcast and did not remove his hat. “I thought we would never eat,” sighed Sam, as the innkeeper’s wife set down plates of kippered herring and mugs of watered wine in front of them. “Who knew you were so popular?” Tristan shrugged. “I’ve come through here a number of times. Master Collop’s a good friend to the Paladins.” When they were about halfway through their breakfast, the innkeeper paid them another visit. “If you have a moment, Paladin Lyons, I need to speak with you in private. I have news that may be of interest to you.” Tristan pulled a gold coin from his belt pouch and slid it across the table. “Braeden and Sam are my trainees. They are to hear your news as well.” “Very well.” Master Collop swept up the gold coin and deposited it into his apron. “I hear rumors from the West.” “You know I don’t put much stock in rumors,” Tristan admonished. “Aye, that I do, Paladin. But I think these rumors are worthy of your attention.” The innkeeper’s eyes darted right and then left. “I hear tell you’re headed to the Diamond Coast.” Tristan nodded. “Go on.” Master Collop coughed into his hand. “I have an innkeeper friend at The Brass Monkey in Pirama. Business has been tough lately, and he asked to borrow a few gold coins, just to stay afloat. ‘Business is that bad?’ I asked him. Now, John Byrd--that’s his name--is as loyal to the Paladins as they come. He understands what you do for Thule, same as me. But the demon plague at the Diamond Coast, John says it’s spreading east. Even in Pirama, it’s gotten bad, with attacks almost nightly. They’ve had to double the night watch.” “Isn’t Reynard out there? I would think he’d have called for help if the situation were truly dire.” Master Collop stroked his fleshy chin, thinking. “Paladin Reynard? John didn’t mention him. All I know is folks are getting restless, and some of them are refusing to pay their tithes to the Paladins.”