Барб Хенди - Of Truth and Beasts

Chane still looked a mess, his pale face battered, although not as bad as earlier. He’d claimed he shouldn’t be seen in good light, causing anyone at the inn to wonder what trouble had walked through the door. Ore-Locks said nothing to this and backstepped three paces behind Chane to wait. Wynn had ignored them both.

Now she reached down to stroke Shade’s head as the elderly, sleepy-eyed innkeeper reappeared through one of the room’s two tall wooden doors.

“All three rooms are ready, miss,” he said in Elvish.

Stooped by age, he was still much taller than she, and his thin, silvery hair was pulled back in a frizzy tail. His shock upon first seeing Shade remained, but overall he was so kindly that a majay-hì’s presence couldn’t be the only reason.

“Thank you,” Wynn replied, and counted two silver pennies into his hand.

“If you need anything, there is a small bell outside of each room. Ring it sharply, and I will be along.”

“Thank you,” Wynn said again.

She stepped out to find Ore-Locks and Chane exactly as she’d left them.

“Around back,” she said, and they headed off.

Being on their own again brought no relief to Wynn; it only seemed to make things worse. Chane and Ore-Locks weren’t speaking to each other, and Wynn fought against her rising sense of guilt in denying the price of Chane’s companionship.

She knew—had known—what he was, but kept seeing the other Chane, until he’d utterly lost himself in First Glade. That undead monster of his hidden nature was all that had remained. And it had been caused by more than just the forest’s influence.

It was also because of her.

Someone could’ve been needlessly hurt, or even died, for nothing. He would sacrifice anyone, anything, for her.

Shade kept to Wynn’s side as both men followed them to the back of the inn. Wynn unlatched the door to the first room and peered inside. Only then did it dawn on her that she hadn’t needed a key.

It was strange to be in a place where concern over security or privacy wasn’t given any thought. The place looked simple, comfortable, and perfectly clean, but what would they all do now? Sit in their separate rooms until morning, when Chane fell dormant and she would go out seeking supplies?

“I need a new shirt,” Chane said, breaking the silence.

He stood before the next door, watching her quizzically. Perhaps her affected calm wasn’t as convincing as she’d thought. But his suggestion that they go out to buy supplies tonight was not unwelcome. Dinner was long past, though some shops might still be open. At least it gave them something to do rather than talk—or think.

“Let’s stow our things first,” she agreed quietly.

Stepping just inside, she unloaded her pack around the door’s edge and then faltered, the sun crystal staff still in hand. She didn’t like going anywhere without it, but carrying it might become troublesome if they found enough supplies tonight. She tucked the staff in the corner behind the door and stepped out.

Ore-Locks stood before the third door, the chest on his shoulder.

“You don’t have to come,” she told him.

Ore-Locks opened the third room, slid in the chest, and then shut the door and stood waiting.

Chane had not expected mention of a new shirt to result in a group excursion. He had wanted to go off by himself. Yet here they all were, walking a manicured lane and looking for open shops.

Tension between him and the others was too thick. Worse, he still could not remember what he had done in First Glade. Wynn avoided any mention of the subject, and Ore-Locks watched his every move.

Chane did not care what Ore-Locks—or even Shade—thought of him, but Wynn was another matter. She appeared strained and was more distant than ever. He wanted to pull her aside and demand she tell him what was wrong.

Part of him knew better than to try that; another part was afraid of her answer. So he did nothing.

Ore-Locks pointed toward a shop ahead with pale green melons in a wooden bin out front. The sight took Chane back to his living days. Melons, though bulky and heavy, would be a good food source while they had a wagon to carry such. They kept well and provided fluid as well as nourishment.

Ore-Locks stepped up to engage the shopkeeper sweeping the front porch.

“How much?” he asked in Numanese, gesturing at the melons.

The rather stocky woman, or stocky for an elf, eyed him before returning, “In coin or barter?”

She obviously knew dwarven customs.

As the bartering began, Chane whispered to Wynn, “I have other errands. I will meet you later at the inn.”

She looked up, and the veneer of calm on her face did not hide the sadness in her eyes. He wavered again, longing to pull her aside, but she nodded and turned back to watching Ore-Locks.

“I pity that shopkeeper,” she said quietly. And then said softly, “Go.”

Chane flinched.

Fear of losing her, even before this journey ended, tortured him. He had one chance to procure something rare and important—a slim hope of finding another way to keep her alive, should the worst come. That was all that mattered. He silently backed away and ducked off the road between the widely spaced buildings.

Chane began running as soon as he slipped from Wynn’s sight.

Wynn sighed, tired of waiting on Ore-Locks’s stubborn bartering. The poor shopkeeper looked worn and exasperated. Wynn turned about, looking down the road at the few people still out for the evening. Chane was nowhere in sight, but she guessed where he’d gone.

He needed to mend himself—to feed. The thought only made her more aware that she’d chosen to keep company with an undead. She closed her eyes tightly, opening them again as a sudden worry struck her.

Hopefully, Chane had gone after wild game. He knew better than to touch anyone here after her warning—didn’t he? How he’d managed to feed on livestock so far without being seen, after moons of travel, was another question she’d pushed aside. He never talked about it, never would, but this populated place wouldn’t offer him many options for privacy.

Would he go after the local livestock? What if he was discovered?

Wynn took a step, peering between the buildings and great trees. She touched Shade’s head and a memory of Chane’s face passed between them.

“Find him—now!” she whispered.

Shade loped off, sniffing the ground, as Wynn hurried after.

Chane pushed himself too hard, and the pain in his side returned. Stolen life gathered by the brass cup had not mended him enough. He ignored the discomfort, but at least his fluids had stopped leaking from his side. Soon he passed through a grove, emerging near the stables where they had first arrived.

Wynn might keep at her preparations all day tomorrow while he was dormant, and then suddenly announce that they were leaving at dusk. She had sprung such things upon him before. These lands offered something he might never find elsewhere. He had to finish one task and return before she began wondering where he was.

He ignored the stables and jogged out of the city. Even as he passed settlements along the way, where a few elves stopped in the night to watch in puzzlement, he kept to the road as the fastest route.

Wynn was gasping when she broke out of the trees behind Shade and spotted the stable across the way. Had Chane gone there?

She couldn’t believe he’d be so foolish as to feed in the stable. They had to come here to get their horses and wagon. What if someone spotted him or found a wounded animal in the morning, let alone a dead one?

Wynn stumbled across the road, looking about in panic, and hoping no one appeared until she could retrieve Chane. Shade huffed sharply, and Wynn almost jumped as she spun around.