Just as the fire began to roll, Ghost appeared from around the left corner, legs pumping, swords drawn, his large body traveling at a bewildering speed so great that he was halfway up the stairs before he could even register the fire bathing him. Tarlak heard him scream, and it sent chills racing up his spine. Ghost dropped to his stomach, hands crossing to protect his face. The moment he hit the stairs, he rolled, and Tarlak doubted if he cared about the blows he took as he rolled down. Anything would be better than the fire.
“You killed my best friend,” Tarlak said, looping his hands around once, ice shards growing in the air before him. “Whatever torture you suffered, you deserved a hundred times worse.”
He flung the shards, aiming to spear Ghost through the chest. The man was tougher than Tarlak guessed, though, and even as he lay at the bottom of the stairs, his arms and face horribly burned, he was still not beaten. Even as Ghost screamed, he rolled along the floor and out of the way. Out of sight, Tarlak swore and rushed down the steps, wishing he were half as fast as the giant man. At the bottom of the steps, he saw what he knew he’d find: no one.
“You get him?” Brug asked, rushing down the stairs after him.
“He’s badly burned, but he might live,” Tarlak said, looking left to right as he briefly thought of chasing. But he couldn’t even guess whether the man had fled out the window or the front door. Haern was the tracker in their group, not him.
Furious, he punched a wall, then again, tempted to tear the whole building down with his magic in an attempt to accommodate the overwhelming anger he felt.
“I don’t get it,” Brug said, sheathing his daggers and then gingerly touching his bruised nose with his fingers. “He was dead, wasn’t he? Where was he all this time if not?”
“I don’t know,” Tarlak said. “And honestly, I don’t care. All I care about is that the next time I see him, he dies, and this time, I’ll burn his damn body to make sure if he does come back it’ll have to be as an actual ghost.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” Brug said.
Tarlak chuckled.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get back to the tower and out of this awful city.”
CHAPTER 10
There was nothing special about the town of Trass, at least to Haern’s eyes. They were traveling south, following the Rigon River’s western bank, and had passed through many such towns. All around were well-tilled fields, and many towns had shops set up to sell plows and repair nets, and barter away the day’s latest catch or harvest. But apparently, Trass had what they wanted, for when Thren led them down the street toward the ramshackle inn, he beamed.
“Truth be told, I didn’t think it would take this long,” Thren said to them as he headed toward the inn’s door.
“I’d be inclined to believe you if I knew what we were looking for in the first place,” said Haern. He felt uncomfortable as he always did when walking the open street in daylight. His attire, with his long cloak and his low hood obscuring his face, would earn him strange looks in Veldaren. Out in a land of farmers and fishers? He and Thren were oddities, and ones people knew to rightly fear. Men and women veered away from them when they passed. If not for Delysia accompanying them, dressed in her priestess robes and with the symbol of the Golden Mountain clearly showing on her chest, they might have openly demanded their departure.
“Information,” Thren said as he opened the door to the inn and stepped inside.
The inn was small, and down the corridor past the innkeeper, Haern saw what he guessed were only two rooms. An older man with sores on his face sat on a wooden chair beside the corridor, arms crossed over his chest as he slept. Thren walked up to him and kicked the chair.
“Wake up,” he said.
The innkeeper startled, and seeing Thren, he glared.
“Five copper a head,” he said. “Though I should make it six for waking an old man so rudely.”
Thren chuckled.
“The sun marks the sky,” he said. “And I wish to talk to someone unafraid of its light.”
The innkeeper narrowed his eyes.
“So, you’re one of them?” he asked. Thren nodded. “All right, then. Go to the commons and ask for Maneth. If you’re looking to talk, he’s the one best at it.”
Thren dipped his head in thanks, then turned and strode past Haern and Delysia and out the door.
“I take it we’re meeting an informant?” Haern asked, hurrying after.
“Something like that,” Thren said, looking left and right in search of the commons. “The Sun Guild’s been steadily moving east over the years, and even the smaller towns have someone to collect modest dues in return for guarantees no one else will try to muscle in on their trade. Such protection is easily worth it, for it also deters any bandits from trying to rob the place. No one of intelligence willingly makes an enemy of the Sun.”
“Except us,” Delysia said.
Thren cast her a smile.
“Yes, except us,” he said. “Now let’s go find this Maneth.”
It took only a few minutes of wandering for them to stumble upon the commons, a large expanse with only a single ancient oak growing in its center. In its shade were several groups of people talking, women holding babes as their children played, along with many tanned men drinking, most of them naked from the waist up. As Haern approached, he felt all eyes turning their way.
“Well met this fine day,” Thren said to a group of three men drinking. “I’m looking for a man named Maneth. Might one of you be him?”
“I’m Maneth,” said a man leaning against the oak. He was also bare chested, his shirt wrapped around his waist. Unlike the others, his tan was lighter, his arms less toned. “Care to tell me why three strangers odd as yourselves have come traipsing through our town?”
“I have four reasons,” Thren said. “Each one a point, and each one made of gold.”
Maneth grunted.
“Get out of here,” he told the others.
“But we were…”
“Out!”
The men muttered but wandered away, and the women quickly beckoned their children to their sides before they could carry them off. Haern watched them leave, and there was no denying the fear in their eyes. It wasn’t much, just a hint. Maneth didn’t command power himself, but they feared what he represented.
“Well, then,” Maneth said once they were alone. “Care to tell me your names and why you’ve come all this way to seek out the Sun Guild? Any idiot can tell you three aren’t from around here.”
Thren grinned.
“My name is the only one that matters. I am Thren Felhorn, of Veldaren.”
Maneth didn’t even try to hide his surprise.
“Thren?” he asked. “You’re not lying to me, are ya?”
“Not many men are brave enough to pretend to be me.”
Maneth let out a dismissive snort.
“If you say so. Still, you match the stories I’ve heard, most of them, anyway. Must say, you traveling with a priestess of Ashhur doesn’t quite fit. Care to tell me why you’re with this barbarian, sweetheart?”
He likely thought Delysia would blush or appear flustered by the sudden question, but she only flashed him a smile.
“Someone must keep the barbarian in line.”
Maneth laughed, loud and boisterous.
“Indeed, indeed. Well, Thren, let me formally introduce myself. I’m Maneth Trout. I grew up here, believe it or not, then trundled all the way north to Mordeina thinking to make myself a fortune. Joined the Sun Guild only to find myself sent back home to keep an eye on things. If you’re looking for information in these parts, I’m sure I know a little something about everything the heir of Muzien might need to know.”