Ravenous (7 page)

BY NIGHTFALL WE ARE NEARLY BACK TO MY ORIGINAL ROUTE. THE SKIES
broke open midafternoon, and though the rain has stopped now, our cloaks are still drenched. More people travel in this area, and buildings occasionally sprout up in the woods. Sleeping in the open will be tricky tonight.

“We should look for an inn,” Dalen says. “Then you can pretend I'm a horse that you're keeping in the stables while you take a room inside.”

“It's a good idea, but we may have to be very sneaky to make it work.”

The innkeeper may not be keen on renting a room to a girl with only baubles to her name. I'm not wild about trespassing, but we'll do what we must.

The buildings become closer together and I'm grateful
it's late at night. Far too many people would be on the streets if it were not nearly midnight. I shudder. We'll have to sleep quickly and rise early if we want to leave without any trouble.

A tavern with a gaily painted sign appears on our right. A stable sits behind it. Dalen's tail flicks when he hears the horses whinny softly in the darkness.

I lead Dalen into the tavern yard, sticking as close as possible to the side of the building. A few shops lie across the street, all dark paneling and white trim like the inn and tavern. Raucous voices ring out from inside, and the sour smell of ale and sweat wafts through the windows. I give Dalen my pack and advise him to duck low in the bushes while I go inside. He keeps his head and torso down as much as he can, but nothing can be done about his horse half. If anyone glances out the window as he passes, they'll just see a horse's rear end.

The door to the tavern creaks when I open it and step into the smoky, half-lit room. All I want to do is find the innkeeper, barter for a room, and, barring that, hide in the stables with Dalen.

“Hey, Jakob, more ale!” cries a tall man with a deep voice and long arms. “Our mercenary friends here must celebrate.” The words catch my ears. Mercenaries. Men who sell their allegiance and skill with a sword. Those are the sort of men Ensel employed in his army.

A thin older man with long graying hair looks up from his books. He shakes his head at the first man and nods at the young barmaid. The man must be Jakob, and if he's in
charge, he must be the innkeeper. An older woman with hair the same shade as Jakob's walks out of the kitchen and into the hall carrying a basket of rolls.

“Do you have the coin for it, Aaron, or are you just blustering again?” the barmaid says. The men all laugh, and I imagine it is at Aaron's expense. I push my way through the crowd, headed for Jakob's side of the bar. At least twenty men crowd around the tables, many of them wearing cloaks with a scrolling red insignia on the shoulder, marking them as mercenaries. These are not men to be trifled with. I must be quick.

“What? Of course I do! Besides, these men are doing us a favor. You should be giving it away on the house.”

“Really? A favor? What good have they done?” the barmaid scoffs.

Steel jangles and wooden benches screech as they're shoved back. Tall men with long swords tower over me and the rest of the patrons. I try not to cringe, edging closer to the innkeeper's station. That barmaid should not have asked such a question, not if they're like the mercenaries I remember. Those men were gruff and ruthless, unkind to all but the one who paid them—Ensel.

The man continues, oblivious to the dead silence around him. “Why, they're keeping us safe, cleaning up after that wizard—” His words suddenly choke off. A knife whistles through the air, knocking several plates off the bar and landing just shy of the barmaid's fingers on the tap.

“S-sorry, sirs,” the barmaid stutters, “I didn't mean no offense.”

“You should know,” a new, deep voice says, giving me shivers, “that I am Vincali, captain of the mercenary league, and ruler of Belladoma.” The man who speaks has dark, stringy hair that hangs down to his shoulders, and eyes like black bottomless pits.

Several gasps echo before the room falls to silence. My heart sinks into my feet. Nothing good can come of the mercenaries taking over that city. I reach the innkeeper at last. “Excuse me, sir,” I say, but he only gives me a cursory look, then goes back to his books.

“Isn't that lovely,” the first man giggles. He's clearly drunk. “Ensel died before he could pay them properly, so they took their payment by taking the city.”

“Well, that's something worth celebrating, then,” the barmaid says, voice quivering. I glance over and ball my hands into fists. The mercenary man who spoke, Vincali, has retrieved his knife and now holds it against her throat while she refills his glass.

Bullies. The whole lot of them. I hate bullies.

But I swallow my dislike and try again to talk to the innkeeper. “Excuse me, sir, but I would like to barter for a room for the night.” I hold up several of the shiny objects Dalen brought with him, dotted with one or two coins. Even I know it's not nearly enough for a shared room, let alone a private one. But if some of these are real silver, he just might go for it.

The innkeeper raises his eyebrows and examines my offer. “This is no place for children.”

I resist rolling my eyes. “My parents will join me shortly,”
I lie. “They just sent me on an errand to get a room.”

Laughter breaks out behind me. “Jakob, are you renting rooms to babies now?”

Fuming, I glance behind to see Vincali sneering. His attention is the last thing I need.

Jakob pushes my hands away. “No. I was just telling her to run off and rejoin her parents.”

Vincali steps closer, his sword jangling at his side with each step. “Yes, they must be looking for you. I doubt they'd appreciate you spending their money.” He glances down at my hands. I snap them closed and drop them to my sides. “Or bartering their silverware.”

My face flushes and it only makes me madder. “Excuse me.” I push past him, moving toward the door. Every nerve is taut with fear. I can't afford to draw any more attention than I already have. Especially not from the people who currently run Belladoma.

Snickers crop up in the crowd. I keep my head high as I open the door and step out.

With a quick look to ensure I have not been followed, I duck around the porch and join Dalen in the bushes. I shoulder my pack and signal him to move toward the woods beyond the stables.

When we reach the corner of the inn, I glance around, then shrink back. A mercenary now stands by the front door, smoking a pipe, and puffing curling smoke into the air. Dalen wrinkles his nose.

“What on earth is that horrid—”

“Be quiet,” I whisper. He gives me an indignant look but obeys. “The men in there are dangerous. We must be cautious.”

Dalen goes absolutely still. “I know how to remain hidden,” he whispers. “I have practiced it all my life.”

I breathe out, relieved.

“Do you know who those men are?” he asks.

I shudder. “Yes. We don't want to cross them, I can assure you of that. We can't stay here tonight. Besides, the innkeeper refused to barter for a room.”

When the man's back is turned, we creep softly over the grass toward the stables and the woods beyond.

“Do you hear that?” Dalen whispers.

Footsteps. Laughter. The clank of swords.

All headed in this direction. The front door of the tavern bursts open and we break into a run. I hope the distance and the shadows are enough to conceal us. We must reach safety as quickly as possible.

At first they speak in muffled voices, too far away for us to hear what they say. They do not look our way, and the tightness in my chest begins to unwind.

“Get on my back,” Dalen says, bending his horse half down.

“What?” I say, bewildered. My pulse stutters with every shout and laugh from the direction of the mercenaries.

“You can't outrun them, but I can. It's the only way we'll escape without getting caught.”

I jump up and awkwardly sit on his back, tying one end
of the ropes securing his pack around my waist.

“Go,” I whisper.

“Put your arms around me,” he says. “It will keep you from slipping.”

I do, and then he ambles forward, only to step on a branch hidden by the tall grass. Suddenly, six pairs of unsavory eyes burn into our backs and a shout goes up.

“Run,” I whisper. He throws himself into the forest at full speed. I cling to him, forehead pressed against his back, terrified I'll fall off any second. I hate running, but we're far outnumbered and have no weapons that can match their swords.

I've been told I'm brave, but I'm not stupid.

We plunge into the forest, branches whipping by our heads. Dalen ducks and weaves as much as possible, but a couple catch me on the back and shoulders. It smarts; it will bruise by morning.

But I'll take that any day of the week over what those men back at the tavern might do.

The sounds of pursuit follow quicker than I'd hoped. Pounding hoofbeats and men's shouts echo through the trees. A few curses and the word
hybrid
reach my ears. A hard knot of terror forms in my gut.

Moonlight streams through the trees, both a blessing and a curse. It lights our path, but it will also make it easier for our pursuers to spot us.

“We have to find someplace to hide,” I say.

“I agree. But I am afraid I do not know this part of the woods.”

“Keep an eye out for something.”

Fortunately, the mercenaries' horses are not closing in yet. Dalen is fast, even with me on his back. What will they do with Dalen if they catch us? Sell him as a slave? No, the wizard taught us all one thing—hybrids are more valuable dead than alive. They'll kill him, and sell his parts for a fortune at one of the traveling markets.

Sickly heat crawls over my skin. Dalen is smart and kind, and he was the first to believe my story. It's up to me to keep him safe.

The sound of rushing water soon drowns out the hoofbeats pounding behind us. The river is up ahead. We might be able to lose them there. But the thought of all that water makes me dizzy.

The terrain becomes more hilly and rocky, and I fear Dalen grows tired.

“Should we try crossing the river?” he says. “It isn't far off.”

“Soon, yes. But not right away. We need to throw them off our trail as much as possible first.” I swallow hard, determined to keep my eyes focused on the dimly lit woods.

The river comes into view, rippling water sparkling in the moonlight. Dalen gallops along the bank, but the water is too wide and deep to cross yet.

“We need a shallower spot; otherwise the current will drag us to who knows where.”

He turns south and picks up speed, following the river's edge. The trees are thinner, but the river shows no sign of narrowing. Horse hooves and snapping branches echo in the
dark stillness of the woods. An owl hoots its disapproval. Our pursuers are not as far behind as I'd like them to be anymore.

Dalen runs down a hill. Then something dark and solid looms over the riverbank ahead. The river runs right through one of the larger hills, creating a cave. Perhaps this one has offshoot tunnels as well. Places we could lose the mercenaries. If Dalen can even fit inside. The bank between the cave wall and the river might be too narrow.

“Head for that cave. We might be able to follow it through and lose them on the other side, or find a tunnel to hide in.”

He gives me a skeptical look over his shoulder, then shrugs. He doesn't have any better ideas.

Even with the moonlight overhead, the cave is hard to see. Something large and hungry could be waiting just inside, or rocks could be ready to trip us and toss us into the rushing water.

Or there could be a way out.

Dalen breathes heavily. I'm a burden to him now. At the least, we need a place to hide and rest. He skids to a stop at the entrance to the cave and peers inside.

“This is narrow, but I think I can do it. If it gets narrower, I will be in trouble.”

“You'll be fine,” I say encouragingly, though I don't feel half so certain. “I'll go first.” I dismount and wobble into the cave. I take Dalen's hand and tug him after me. My legs are sore after riding, but I force myself to continue. I reach out for balance, but the sides of the cave are slick with damp
stone and moss that gives off a faint light. I press on, feet solidly on the edge, keeping one eye glued to the rushing river beside me, hoping for an inner tunnel on the left. Anything to make them lose their trail. Anything to get away from all this water. Behind me Dalen groans.

“Shhh,” I whisper.

“Sorry,” he says. “This place makes me uncomfortable.”

I squeeze his hand because I doubt he can see my smile in the darkness, but I have to release it to keep my balance.

Moments later, I hear the sound of something heavy sliding.

Splash!

I whirl. Dalen flails in the water with all six appendages. I grab at his hands, but the current yanks him out of reach. He can't get ahold of the riverbank and the cave doesn't have any sort of branch or vine for me to use to reach him.