Jon Sprunk - Shadow's master

“For how many days?”

“Extended,” Caim repeated. “I'll find you at the market. Try to stay out of trouble.”

Aemon kneed his steed closer to Caim. “I'll go with you.”

“No-”

But the others were already following Egil through the crowd, and Caim was too tired to argue. His head felt ripe to explode. He clucked to his mount and headed down the street. At least Aemon rode quietly without asking questions.

Kit appeared above him, hanging upside down. “There's a nice place up ahead. The rooms are a little small, but the beds look comfortable and cleaner than most places. Oh, and the owner's wife makes fresh bread all day long. It smells incredible.”

Caim looked at her, trying to figure out if she was serious. What the hell did she care if the bread was fresh? With Kit floating by his shoulder, he guided his horse past a knot of Northmen with cloaks made from long, white feathers. They had just entered a narrow street flanked by narrow wooden houses when a sharp pain punched through the center of Caim's chest. He bent forward, unable to breathe. It felt like an arrow had rammed right through him. He looked down expecting to see blood spilled down his front, but there was nothing.

Kit hovered in front of him. “Caim? What's wrong? Caim?”

He couldn't help wheezing as fresh air dribbled into his lungs. Shivers racked his body, and he felt light-headed.

“You all right, Caim?” Aemon asked. “You don't look so good.”

The clansman took the reins and guided both their mounts out of the flow of people. Caim shook and gasped for breath under a wooden archway hung with icicles while Aemon watched with a concerned gaze. Kit's fingers ran up and down his arm.

“I'm okay,” Caim finally managed to say when he could breathe again. But he felt wrung out. “Caught a touch of something.”

“You need to get out of this cold,” Kit said.

At the same time, Aemon said, “You should get someplace warm.”

Caim nodded. “First place we see.”

Aemon returned his reins but took the lead, pushing through the crowd. They stopped at a boarding house sandwiched between two alehouses. Caim slid out of his saddle and managed to stay upright even as the rest of the world swayed. He didn't complain as Aemon tied up the horses.

“Come on, Caim,” Kit whispered in his ear. “Just a few more steps to the door.”

Caim pushed off from his horse. Putting one foot in front of the other, he passed Aemon, who held open the door, and staggered inside. His boots scuffed along the bare floor of a tight hallway. The air was stuffy with warmth and woodsmoke, clogging in his throat. Shaggy cloaks hung from pegs on the wall. Caim heard Aemon's voice, followed by a woman's, and then the Eregoth was beside him again. “Got us a couple rooms upstairs, Caim. You think you can make it?”

Caim let himself be helped up a flight of high steps and around a couple turns. A door opened, and then Aemon was lowering him onto a bed. The mattress was lumpy and stiff, but Caim collapsed without bothering with his boots or clothes and shut his eyes. The light dimmed as footsteps receded. There was talking, but it was miles and miles away in the fog that had set up in his head.

Then a soft voice whispered to him. “Rest easy, Caim. I'm here.”

He smiled as Kit rubbed his shoulders with a touch that felt almost real.

Caim woke up feeling a world better. He had slept all night and through most of the next day. Sitting up, his head didn't hurt as much, and the hollow pain in his chest was gone, but mainly he was famished.

“See who's finally awake.” Kit settled down on the mattress beside him. “You look better. I guess you really needed a rest. You've been pushing yourself too hard.”

Caim ran a hand through his stiff hair. “I guess so. Where's everyone?”

“Dray and Malig went out after noonday. I think they're in a tavern on the east side of town. Horrible place. Egil's shopping for those supplies you wanted.”

“That figures.”

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing. What about Aemon? I think he's the one who brought me here, but my head's all stuffed up. I can hardly remember where I am.”

Kit pointed to the wall. “He's in the next room. He's been checking in on you every once in a while. I think he was afraid you might die.”

“The way I was feeling, I might have welcomed a quick end.”

She batted at his chest. “Don't say that!”

As her fingers passed through him, something tickled in the back of Caim's brain. A half-formed memory, but it slipped away. “Well, I feel like a new man. Where's my clothes?”

Kit trailed her fingers up his stomach. “I like you better without them.”

“Kit, you just got done telling me I need to take things easy.”

She poked him in the breastbone. Hard.

“Hey!” Caim rubbed the spot. He'd felt her finger. “That-”

The door pushed open, and Aemon poked his head in. “Hey, Caim! You're awake!”

Caim glanced at Kit. “So it would seem. Can I have my clothes?”

Aemon tossed Caim a package. Inside were his garments, cleaned and neatly folded. Even the holes had been mended. Aemon talked, mostly about the townsfolk, while Caim cleaned up in a washbasin and got dressed.

“And you wouldn't believe some of the things these northern gals say,” Aemon said with a shake of his head. “It's enough to put the steel in your sword, if you know what I mean.”

Feeling almost human, Caim strapped on his knives. “Don't get too comfortable with them. They're still Northmen, same as the ones who killed your kin in Eregoth.”

Aemon lowered his gaze. “I know, Caim. I know why we're here.”

Do you? Because I'm starting to doubt whether I know anymore. “Good. I could do with a drink and something warm to eat.”

“Now you're talking.”

They left the small room and went down a narrow flight of steps to a tight foyer. None of it was familiar to Caim. I must have been sicker than I realized.

Once outside, Aemon took the lead. Caim breathed in the chill air, letting it wash the sleep from his brain as he followed through the sparse crowd.

“Maybe you should go see one of those mud-men doctors, Caim.” Kit floated beside him. “Maybe they can fix whatever's wrong.”

“Here?” He snorted and kept his attention on Aemon's broad back. “I'll be fine, Kit.”

“You keep saying that, but what if it gets worse?”

“I don't think it's anything a doctor could help with. I think it's tied to…you know…the shadows.”

He closed his mouth, hoping she would volunteer something, a fresh hint about the mysterious world from which his powers sprang. But she just watched him with large, liquid eyes.

“Are you going to tell me what happened back in the room?”

Kit scrunched her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“When you poked me, Kit. I felt it. Not a little tickle, either. You really touched me.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“How can you-?”

Caim shut up as Aemon looked back, eyebrows lifted like he'd heard something. When he turned back around, Kit was gone. Caim growled under his breath as he tugged on his gloves.

They entered a crowded street. Raucous voices echoed off the homes and shops. The town, Caim had already decided, possessed no plan or reason; it was just a pile of buildings built around, next to, and over to each other. Every Northman carried a weapon, usually more than one. Here in their natural element they were a loud, lusty people. He hoped Dray and Malig were behaving themselves, but that was almost too much to ask.

Aemon and Caim jostled their way into a great market. Everything was open to the sky. Stalls and wagons lined the perimeter. The shouts of the hawkers combined into a droning cacophony mixed with braying animals and shrill pipes. People mingled about, but most were gathered at the middle of the plaza around a high platform. A row of people, men and women alike, stood upon the stage. It was hard to tell much about them from this distance, except that they were tied together, hand and foot. Prisoners? No. A sour taste filled the back of Caim's mouth as he looked closer. Slaves. One by one they were cut free and marched down from the platform as money changed hands.