Breath of Dragons (A Pandoran Novel) (38 page)

It sat lower in elevation from where we stood, the village itself squeezed in the cracks between hills. Buildings huddled along the river, crammed in together as if they were all fighting for riverfront property. Torchlight cast the streets and buildings in a soft glow, and the windows glittered like jewels. To the right of the crowded village, I saw the dark shadow of the delta, a few needle-like masts pointing toward the night. That must be the harbor.

It looked like an enchanting little town, and I was glad we would be staying there for the night. It was getting so cold that my hands felt stiff, and making a fist was like squeezing an invisible stress ball. The golden light below looked warm and inviting, and even from here I could smell the heavy scent of burning wood.

Vera seemed to have this same thought, because she said, "I'm glad you finally saw reason, Alexander." As if to drive her point home, cold rain began to fall.

Alex didn't respond to this. Instead, he looked at me and asked, "Do you have a story prepared, or do we need to come up with something?"

I shook my head. "I've got one ready." I'd thought about this during our walk here, sifting through towns and landmarks I'd seen on the map of Pendel. Thinking over which scenario would be the most believable and incite the fewest number of questions. I told my story to Alex and Vera, and Alex looked pleased.

He glanced back down at the town and ran his hand through his now damp hair. "Let's just hope they aren't an overly inquisitive lot."

We descended the winding cobblestone path to Nyhavn, passing a few travelers along the way. Some were on foot, some on horseback. One man, who was wrapped tightly in a cloak like a bolt of fabric, sat in the bench of a wagon while two good-sized chocolate mares pulled it up the grade, hooves clip-clopping upon the wet stone. The other travelers nodded as they passed, and one even said good evening. I said good evening back to him, but after receiving a stern look from Alex, I decided not to speak anymore, and I withdrew a little deeper into my hood.

The strong smells of saltwater and fish soon overtook the scent of rain. Once we'd made our way to the village's edge, we reached a palisade that wrapped around the village's perimeter, and it was so tall that from our vantage point, only the tips and corners of thatched roofing were visible. The wall itself was interrupted only by a covered bridge of sorts that carried our road farther into the village. The bridge was guarded on either side by a handful of men in leather armor and bearing long, pointed spears. There were also a few guards walking along the palisade, pausing to look down at the new visitors.

I took a deep, steadying breath, and my story suddenly felt silly. Hopefully, as Alex had said, they wouldn't ask too many questions. Lies are like quicksand. The more you tell, the greater your chances of sinking in them. The best lies were those that were mostly true with slight alteration to the crucial details.

The guard in front angled his spear so that it blocked our path. I stopped, and Alex and Vera stopped too, flanking me but standing a little behind me.

"Where ya comin' from?" asked the foremost guard. His voice was so scratchy and rough that I thought he probably smoked a lot of tobacco. He chewed on something as his gaze took us in, and then a lump formed behind his bottom lip. Apparently, he chewed a lot of tobacco, too.

"We're from Galston," I said, trying to mirror his gruff accent as best I could while watching the other guards in my periphery. "We're headed for Karth, but with the weather…" I waved my hand at the sky, feeling Vera's amusement behind me.

"Aye," the man said. His hair was so wet that his shoulder-length dark strands looked more like dreads. He pushed one of these dreadlocks off of his forehead. "A right nasty storm this one'll be. Best you're in for the night." He nodded for us to pass. "Evenin'."

"Evenin'," I replied and was just starting to walk forward when he grabbed my arm so tightly I knew instantly that we were in trouble.

Chapter 18

The Rusted Kettle

T
he guard's fingers dug into my arm. "You're dressed awfully well bein' from Galston." He pulled me so close, it was as if he were trying to sniff the truth right out of me.

The
venita
cloak. I had completely forgotten I was wearing it. Of course it wasn't any ordinary traveling cloak, and anyone with eyes would have seen its value. I felt like an idiot for not catching it sooner. I fought to keep my expression controlled and shrugged, though I was only able to shrug with the arm that didn't have the guard's vice-like fingers wrapped around it. "I'm a tradeswoman. Appearances are everything."

The guard stared into my face for a long, dreadful moment. That was why he was employed at the gate. He had x-ray detectors for eyes and could spot a lie like a broken bone on a radiograph. The silent standoff finally ended, and I resisted the urge to exhale my relief.

Thus satisfied, he released my arm and stood tall. "Business is treatin' you well, tradeswoman," he said, to which I didn't comment. The guards around him also relaxed, while I pressed down the now wrinkled fabric of my cloak's sleeve. I tried to act irritated, though I was still scared out of my wits.

A smile broke upon the cracked lips of the guard. "If you're headed to the Rusted Kettle for the night, make sure an' get some of the hard cider. It costs a bit more coin than the usual brew, but seems as that shouldn't be a problem for you. Gerard's got a fresh brew, an' it's so good, I wager if the ol' king new about it, he'd seize our stores and impound them in Valdon. So keep it a trade secret, eh?" He winked at me.

"Of course." I smiled tightly, catching myself before I showed reaction at mention of my grandfather. "I make it a practice to trade merchandise—not information. You live longer that way."

The others guards chuckled at that, and the guard I'd been speaking with smacked me on the back. "Smart woman, that one," he said to his companions. He nodded for us to go on, but it wasn't until we crossed the bridge, rounded a corner, and hid in the shadow of a nearby building that I actually breathed again.

"That was…enlightening," Alex said. He looked pleased in a way that was also somehow accusatory.

"Oh, come on," I said, shrugging out of my cloak. "I know you don't want to be here, but we are, so cooperate."

"This
is
me cooperating," he said, with the hint of a smile upon his lips. "Me
not
cooperating would be to drag you far away from this village. And probably with a muzzle."

I snorted a laugh and started turning the cloak inside out.

"I thought for sure we were caught," Vera said. "Nice recovery."

"Don't encourage her," Alex said.

"If you'll remember,
you
are the one who made me wear this thing." I made a face at Alex as I turned the hood inside out.

He gave me
that
look. "That's irrelevant. You're still a magnet for trouble."

I smiled innocently at him. "True. You're here."

His lips parted ever so slightly, then settled into a smile as I turned one of my sleeves inside out.

"What are you doing?" Vera asked, looking a little annoyed.

I shrugged back into the cloak and looked down at myself. This side of it looked like any ordinary black cloak. "See? No more silver and jeweled trim."

Her gaze slid slowly over me and then she looked at Alex. "Your princess is much smarter than she appears."

Alex eyed me. "Unfortunately." Despite his reproachful tone, the smile remained.

"I'm also the only one of us wearing a cloak, and it's freezing out here," I said, staring pointedly back at Alex. "Let's go find that place the guard was talking about—the Rusted Kettle." I peered around the corner of our building and looked down the quiet and charming streets. Torchlight splattered upon the wet cobblestone and building faces, and the light reflecting through the mist gave diffuse golden halos to the lanterns.

"I second that," Vera said, as a chill trembled through her body. "I'd like to try some of this famous hard cider, anyway, and see how it compares with Gesh's."

"Careful with that," I said. "We'll need all of our senses sharp."

Vera snorted. "Princess, I'm from Gesh. We have the tolerance of Nords."

I looked her over. "Well, tonight you're from Galston, so practice moderation."

She opened her lips to say something, but then lost whatever it was. She glanced at Alex as if looking for help, but she wasn't going to get any from him, because he was giving her a look that said,
That's what you get for taking her side.

The three of us stepped back out onto the cobblestone street. It was quiet, but there were a few people ambling about in the mist, moving in and out of the buttery spheres of light. The smooth stones in the street glistened from drizzle and the light from the windows stretched in soft ribbons of light across our path. The buildings were crammed so close together, it was like one large façade that had been constructed to look like multiple structures. Various wooden signs hung over doorways from cantilevered iron supports, the paint of the letters glossy and wet from the rain. I looked left and right and then noticed a very rotund man exiting a large building to our right. He sort of stumbled out of the door and down a short stair, basking in a beam of light from the opened doorway. He yelled something at the opened door, but his speech was so slurred and sloppy that it was difficult to decipher. Something came flying out of the doorway—a hat?—and it landed on the wet street. The man yelled something else at the door as he stepped back to pick up his hat.

"Let's go this way," I said, heading in the direction of the drunken man.

Alex and Vera followed closely behind, and we kept to the shadows. I couldn't help but notice Alex, because he seemed every bit of an assassin—clad all in black, slipping silently and lithely from shadow to shadow like a predator closing for the kill, taking in every single piece of his surroundings and pinning it to memory. I was grateful that he was on
my
side.

The door of the building ahead had closed, and the man now stood in darkness, cursing obscenities at the night and punching his wet hat at the air. Worn down and weary from his one-sided battle, the man finally teetered off in the opposite direction. I could now see the sign swinging above the door of the building he had exited: The Rusted Kettle. As we approached, I smelled the heady scents of yeast and a wood-burning stove, and my stomach growled. I walked even faster.

Before we reached the Rusted Kettle, we passed an opening in the solid façade. There was a wide, dirt pathway between buildings that looked as though it led around to the back of the inn. I heard a whinny and saw a man leading a horse by the reins around the corner, toward us. Stables for the guests. Maybe we could buy a couple horses off of someone here.

We ascended the short wooden steps to the door of the Rusted Kettle, and I pushed the door in. We were immediately bathed in light and warmth and the most comforting smells of fresh bread and spice, and then the three of us stepped inside and shut the door behind us.

We stood inside of a large room with a ceiling that stretched through a second story—much more spacious than the inn at Rex Cross had been, which was my only other experience with the public inns of Gaia. A large, wrought iron chandelier hung from the dark wood ceiling, filled with rows and rows of fat glowing candles, and scattered about the wooden floor were square, wooden tables with small sconces glowing in the centers. People sat around them, eating and drinking, playing cards and chatting—no one paid any attention to us. There was a bar along the far wall with a line of giant barrels behind, where a barman, with long, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, worked behind the counter. Most of his face was covered in black facial hair, and he prowled behind the counter like a prison guard, daring anyone to steal while filling tankards with ale from spigots—five at a time. There was plenty of light, but all the dark wood absorbed the excess glow in a way that made everything feel warm and cozy.

"May I help ye?" asked a woman who looked like a German beer maid, red bustier and all. Her hair was curled and blonde and she seemed to be twirling it a lot as she stared doe-eyed at Alex.

Honestly. I was going to start asking him to put a bag over his head when we went out in public.

"We'd like dinner and rooms, please," I said.

"This way." The woman smiled, and with an extra sway of her hips, she led us through the tables.

I had the strangest sensation I was being watched and looked up and around the room. It was then that I noticed the profile of a figure seated in a booth at the far corner of the room and completely concealed in shadow. The person wore a heavy cloak, and their hands were folded on the table before a single tankard, and even though whoever it was wasn't even turned in our direction, I had the distinct impression that they were looking over at us.

My attention was brought back to our hostess, who was gesturing to a small booth that looked tight and cozy and was out of direct light. Vera sat on one edge and Alex motioned for me to go ahead before he slipped in right beside me.

"Tonight's menu is fisherman's stew," our waitress said, "but I'm afraid we're short on the muscles. You can thank them for that." She nodded toward a table not far from where we sat, where two men huddled over a chessboard. There was a rather impressive pile of empty shells beside them on the table. "Can I getcha folks anything to drink?"

"Hard cider," Vera said, glaring at the waitress.

The waitress seemed to turn into her self a little and then her cheeks splotched with pink. I couldn't blame her. Vera had a way of looking at you that made you want to wither and die. "'Carse," the waitress said. "Anything for you two?" Though the question had been intended for both Alex and me, the waitress looked only at Alex.

"Just water," I said at the same time Alex said, "Cider."

The waitress flashed Alex a coquettish smile. "I'll be back with the bread." With a sway of her hips, she sauntered off.