Барб Хенди - Of Truth and Beasts

Suppertime was long past, so most vendors were closing up for the night. Chane was still staring at the inhabitants as he walked beside Wynn. It was getting annoying.

“So, this is where you are from,” he said. “These are your people.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Wynn answered. “I’m a citizen of Malourné and a sage of Calm Seatt. That is my home, my people.”

“But ... how did you come to live there?”

Whenever asked, Wynn referred to herself as an orphan, stating that her parents had passed over. In truth, she knew no such thing, but they were certainly dead to her. Chane had never before asked for more than that.

“Domin Tilswith found me in a wooden box at the front gates,” she said finally. “There was no note and only a large purse of coins hidden beneath the blanket, enough to meet an infant’s needs for quite a while.”

Chane stopped walking. “But this must be the land from where you came.”

Wynn didn’t believe in ancestral memories or cultural links by blood. People were shaped by their experiences and environment—and by themselves. Any half-wit knew this. The vendors and patrons of the market street were just another crowd of strangers encountered along the way.

Chane kept studying her.

“What?” she asked.

He shook his head quickly and looked away, watching the people. They all went about their lives beneath the strange street lanterns of colored glass, which bulged evenly like perfectly made pumpkins of pale yellows, oranges, cyans, and violets.

“And now?” he asked. “Do we find an inn or procure a wagon to leave immediately?”

Shade rumbled softly and closed on Wynn with a sharp huff.

“What’s wrong, girl?” Wynn asked.

She was about to reach down and touch Shade’s head when the dog darted off straight through a market stall’s remains.

“Shade! Come back,” Wynn called, and ran after the dog.

She heard Chane shout something from behind her, but she ignored him. She was too busy trying to keep Shade’s whipping tail in sight as it bobbed and weaved through the thinning crowd and the remains of closing stalls.

“Shade, this is no time for games! Come back here ... now!”

Shade slowed briefly, tauntingly, at a corner. Wynn almost caught up, but then Shade bolted off again, vanishing from sight.

“What is the matter with that beast?” Ore-Locks called, his voice farther behind than Chane’s.

Wynn ran on. Stalls and shops gave way to larger buildings and quieter streets. Nearly out of breath, she stumbled into an open area. The shore was in plain sight, and she guessed she might be south of the docks on the city’s outskirts.

There was Shade, sitting by the side of a dirt road.

Wynn caught up, panting too hard to scold Shade anymore. She grabbed the dog’s scruff, more to brace herself than anything else, and bent over with long, heaving breaths.

“Don’t ... do ... that,” she said, gasping. “What is wrong with you?”

Chane joined them, though he wasn’t panting. Ore-Locks took a little longer, huffing and puffing on his thick, shorter legs, iron staff in one hand and their chest heaved up on his shoulder.

“Get that animal a leash,” he coughed.

Shade wrinkled her jowls and whipped her tongue over her nose at him. But Chane was looking ahead, beyond all of them.

“Can you not smell it?” he said. “Shade did from farther off.”

Wynn straightened up, following his gaze.

Back from the shore, wagons of all shapes and sizes were stationed about large timber buildings with corner posts the size of the nearby palm trees. At least six campfires glowed in the dark, illuminating those milling about. Men and women loaded boxes or tended to horses tied off at rails. One elder woman led a team of mules into a nearby stable half as big as the other structures.

Wynn felt soft pressure against her leg, and looked down as Shade pressed closer.

—no ... Chane ... wagon ... stay ... Wynn ... people—

Shade’s broken words, spoken in Wynn’s own remembered voice, made the dog’s intentions quite clear.

“A caravan station,” Wynn whispered.

Shade huffed once.

Chane glanced down at Shade. He had already decided they should travel inland on their own. With Ore-Locks and Shade, they could camp by day and journey by night, just as he and Wynn had done on their way to Dhredze Seatt.

Wynn stroked Shade’s head, thoughtfully watching the caravan camp, and Chane knew she had changed their plans again. Or this time, Shade had.

“Let’s see if any are headed inland and barter for passage,” Wynn suggested.

“I will do so,” Ore-Locks said, about to stride off.

“Wait,” Chane cut in, stepping closer to Wynn. “We should just purchase a small wagon and go on our own. We can set our own pace.”

She looked up at him, some realization dawning. Clearly she understood what he had not said. There were complications in traveling with others, with no place for him to have secure privacy during the day.

“Are you sure?” she asked. “The caravan might be—”

Shade snarled loudly and clacked her jaws at Chane.

“Stop that,” Wynn scolded, and grabbed Shade’s muzzle.

Chane watched the two of them lock gazes in sudden stillness. Ore-Locks watched closely as well, though he did not ask what was happening. Suddenly, Wynn flinched.

“What?” Chane asked, wanting to pull her away from Shade.

“She ... she thinks,” Wynn began. “She insists her way is safer.”

“No,” Chane said, his attention shifting between her and Shade. “We are better off on our own. I can protect us.”

Shade snarled so loudly that Chane looked about, fearful the noise might gain unwanted attention. Wynn seemed troubled at being caught between them. With a slight shake of her head, she closed her eyes, still holding the dog. When she opened them again, she glanced uncomfortably at Ore-Locks before she stood up.

“Shade’s not going to agree to that,” Wynn said to Chane.

“Shade?” Ore-Locks repeated. “Since when is the animal making our decisions?”

Wynn looked only at Chane. “She’s worried about the Fay, that if I’m too isolated in the wilderness ... they will try to kill me again.”

“Fay?” Ore-Locks asked. “Kill you? What are you talking about?”

No one answered him.

Chane closed his eyes briefly. Shade was right, and it should have occurred to him before the dog forced the issue. It unsettled him just how much Shade seemed aware of and how far she might go for her own agenda concerning Wynn. But the dog had made her point, and Wynn had clearly agreed. They needed to travel in greater numbers.

Ore-Locks stood waiting for an explanation.

Chane stepped forward, waving the dwarf along. “Come. We will speak more later. For now, it is time to barter.”

Following behind, Wynn was still shaken by Shade’s vehemence. The dog had once again shown her the same frightening images of the Fay trying to lash her to death with the roots of a downed tree. And Wynn had felt a more personal fear, a determination from Shade that she had not felt before.

Once Shade set her mind on something, shaking it from her jaws could be as difficult as with her father, Chap. In spite of Shade’s harsh methods for making her point, Wynn couldn’t disagree.

They soon reached the nearest team of mules being disconnected from a weathered wagon twice their height. There were some faded hints of its once garish paint. All around, people loaded or unloaded, hauling bundles in or out of the great timber buildings with shake roofs high above. Some tended animals, while others prepared communal meals over open fires. Low voices filled the air.

While a few bore the same coloring as the people of the city, others were paler or duskier. There were two Sumans, perhaps from desert tribes, though no Numans among the caravans, and certainly no dwarves. It appeared that race or culture did not matter here. Most wore thick leather clothing, tough enough for their long journeys, and either floppy hemp and reed hats or head wraps of rough cloth.