K. Taylor - The Shadow's heir

“Me father was a Northerner,” Laela said steadily.

“But not yer mother,” the man finished. “Go away, girl. We don’t need yer Southern blood on our soil.”

Laela took a deep breath-this was her last chance. “Fine, so I’m a half-breed. But I’m a half-breed what’s carryin’ five hundred gold oblong.”

The commander stopped at that. “Five hundred-don’t try an’ play games, half-blood, or I’ll carve yer throat out.”

Laela swung her bundle down off her shoulders and pulled out the bag of money. She opened it and pulled out a single oblong, holding it so it flashed in the light. “I’ll give it to yeh,” she said. “If yeh let me through.”

The man fingered the hilt of the wicked-looking sickle in his belt. “An’ what’s t’stop me takin’ it anyway, girl?”

Laela reached behind her back and freed her sword. “This is,” she snarled, and pointed it directly at his throat.

The man stared at her. Then he glanced at his companions, who were looking on, unreadable.

Then, suddenly, he burst out laughing. “Hahahah! Hark at that half-breed, would ye? Thinks she’s gonna walk straight through here with her trusty sword an’ her bag of oblong.”

“I’ll walk through with the sword,” said Laela. “The oblong’re yours.”

The commander became serious. “What’s yer name, girl?”

She lifted her chin. “Laela Redguard of Sturrick.”

“An’ why are ye tryin’ t’go North, Laela Redguard of Sturrick?”

“’Cause. .” Laela hesitated. “’Cause once all Northerners. . once darkmen like you din’t have no place to call home. Yeh were all slaves, in the North or anywhere else, an’ nobody thought yeh were anythin’ but worthless. Now yeh’ve shown the world yeh ain’t that, an’ yeh’ve got Southerners callin’ you ‘sir.’ Well, I ain’t no Southerner, an’ I ain’t no Northerner, an’ I got no home an’ no respect neither. But I thought if I went North an’ found my father’s people, then maybe I’d find somewhere, ’cause you people’d understand. Or maybe I’m wrong,” she added more softly.

The commander watched her in silence while she spoke. When she had finished, he looked her up and down and then turned away.

“Right,” he said to his companions, as if nothing had happened. “Let’s get goin’. Ye, run back an’ tell ’em t’open the gate. Ye there-Southerner-get them ox movin’. I want that cart inside before the Night God wakes. C’mon, hurry it up!”

The men sprang into action. Laela, for her part, stayed where she was, still holding the sword and the bag of money. Nobody went near her, and the commander, busy ordering his men around, paid her no more attention.

Slowly, laboriously, the gate rose on its chains. When it was high enough and the signal had been given, the cart moved forward again.

Laela followed it. Nobody tried to stop her.

They passed through the gateway and into a big open area with curving stone walls on two sides and another gate in front. There the cart came to a stop, and a group of Northerners-including some women-began to unload its contents while the commander argued with the driver over prices.

Laela stood to one side, expecting to be attacked at any moment. Nobody paid her any attention.

Finally, when the cart was all but empty and the driver had collected his money, the gate opened again, and the oxen did a clumsy turn and began to walk back out the way they had come. Laela watched, not knowing if she should stay or follow.

“Where d’ye think yer goin’, girl?” said the commander’s voice from behind her.

Laela turned and silently offered him the bag of money.

He ignored it and ushered her toward the other gate. It stayed closed, but there was another, far smaller door set into the stonework beside it. The commander opened it.

“Go,” he said, gesturing to the landscape on the other side.

Laela tried to put the bag into his hands. “Here,” she said. “Payment, like I promised.”

He pushed it back toward her. “Keep it,” he said. “I get paid plenty.”

Laela looked suspiciously at him. “Why are yeh lettin’ me through then, if yeh ain’t takin’ the money?”

He straightened up. “The North’s a home for warriors, girl, not traders. I dunno if ye’ll find a home there, but ye’ll need that money. An’ maybe ye’ve got Southern blood in ye, but ye’ve acted like a darkwoman, an’ that’s enough for me.”

Very slowly, Laela refastened the string around the neck of the bag and stowed it away again. “Thanks.”

The commander smiled very slightly at her. “Go on,” he said. “An’ good luck, Laela.”

Laela glanced at him and stepped through the door. Into the North.

She travelled toward Malvern though she wasn’t sure why. Perhaps because it was the nearest city, or perhaps because it was the seat of the King. She didn’t have a plan, and Malvern seemed like the best place to go, so that was where she went.

Travelling in the North was far more difficult than it had been in the South. The road to Malvern was wide and well-marked, but there was virtually nobody else on it. Nobody, therefore, to beg or purchase a ride from. Nobody to trade with. Nobody to tell her if she was going in the right direction.

Under the circumstances, she did the only thing she could: She kept doggedly following the road, hoping to find someone or something that could help her.

Eventually, with her food running low, she came across what looked like abandoned farmland. Crops were growing wild, and she spent some time picking whatever looked edible before she moved on.

Finally, after nearly a solid week of walking, she came across her first village.

She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting a Northern village to look like, but now she saw one, she felt vaguely disappointed to discover it was barely any different from any farming community in the South.

But the people were different.

Laela walked through the main street, heart pounding, waiting for someone to single her out.

Nobody did. She garnered a few curious stares, but nobody shouted at her, nobody came up to accost her. There were no jeers or insults.

Laela felt all her anxiety drain away. Thank Gryphus, she had been right. She could blend in with these people.

Her confidence soaring, she approached a farmer busy unloading a cart.

“What d’ye want?” he asked-impatient but not hostile.

“I’m tryin’ t’get to Malvern,” she said, careful not to look him in the eye. “Could yeh give me directions?”

The farmer looked curiously at her. “I ain’t heard an accent like that before-where’re ye from?”

“Nowhere yeh’d know,” said Laela. “But I want t’get to Malvern. Just tell me if I’m goin’ the right way.”

“Well, the main road leadin’ out of here goes straight there,” said the farmer. “Just keep followin’ it an’ ye’ll be at Malvern’s gates in the end.”

“How far is it?” said Laela. “I’m on foot.”

“On foot!” the farmer repeated. “Ye gods. Ye’ll be lucky to make it there in two months, girl.”

Her heart sank. “D’yeh know how I could get there faster, then?”

The farmer scratched his nose. “If ye see anyone goin’ in that direction, ye could try an’ hitch a lift, or ye could buy a horse if ye had the money. . it’s playin’ with fire, takin’ horses into Malvern, mind.”

“Why?” said Laela.

“The place is swarmin’ with griffins, ain’t it?” said the farmer. “An’ we all know how much they like horses.”

Laela hadn’t heard of this. “Er. .”

“Griffins hate horses,” the farmer told her. “Mostly they kill the things on sight. Ye know, I heard this old story once how there was unicorns in Cymria once, but the griffins wiped ’em out.”