Gewey and Linis went to his pack. He wanted to travel as light as possible. As he sifted through his belongings, he told Linis what Aaliyah had said, and the bargain he had made with her.
“I will go with you,” offered Linis.
“No,” said Gewey. “You're needed here. If the elves are going to gather for war, you must help.” He looked across the field to where Nehrutu was speaking to the other elves. “You must learn whatever they can teach you. It's why I'm going. To learn what I must.”
“Be careful, Gewey,” warned Linis. “She is unlike any elf I have known. She may tempt you in ways you cannot imagine.”
Gewey smiled. “She can try. But as long as my heart belongs to Kaylia, she will fail.”
When Gewey finished packing he returned to where the others were still gathered. Theopolou waited. His smile made him seem youthful. Kaylia stood just behind him. She had changed into a white silk dress, tied at the waist by a thin gold sash. Her hair fell loosely about her bare shoulders. Gewey’s heart raced at the sight of her familiar but breathtaking beauty.
Theopolou took them both by the hand and led them across the field and past the pavilion. An area had been hastily cleared just out of sight of the camp, and a small tent had been erected. It was large enough for two, and no more.
Kaylia turned to her uncle and kissed him lightly on the cheek. He smiled the loving smile of a father. Theopolou took her hand and placed it in Gewey's, then turned and walked away. Kaylia looked deeply into Gewey's eyes then led him inside.
Chapter 8
Lee and Jacob had ridden at an easy pace for the two weeks after taking a riverboat up the Goodbranch River. They waited until they were three days north of Sharpstone before returning to the road. They could not risk being seen. From the sailors, Lee had heard news of the faithful occupying his beloved town, and he had to fight the urge to do something. But Millet would have to deal with them. It was now the duty of Lord Nal'Thain, not Lee Starfinder, to save Sharpstone. His tasks lay elsewhere.
Jacob had been relatively quiet during the journey. Lee had tried many times to engage his son in conversation, but the boy had little to say. A few times Lee tried to teach Jacob sword techniques, and though Jacob learned quickly, he could tell that his heart wasn't in it.
“We'll arrive in Klinton by sundown,” said Lee. The air was bitter cold. Jacob was bundled in a small wool blanket. “We should change clothes before we get there.”
“Why?” asked Jacob.
“We must blend in with a less than savory crowd,” Lee explained. “If we're to get information, and not be discovered, we can't march in as lords of Hazrah. There are towns near the foothills of the Razor Edge Mountains where news of Angraalcan likely be heard. The bandits and mercenaries make it their business to know the comings and goings of the land.”
Jacob sniffed. “So? We're a week from the foothills.”
“Yes,” said Lee. “But our deception should be believable. I'm hoping to find someone heading north. We can pose as sell-swords. Possibly hire on with a merchant. It will go a lot more smoothly if we arrive up north in character.”
“And what makes you think that these people will know anything about my mother?”
Lee shrugged. “They may not. But at least they'll know the best way to get into Angraalunnoticed.”
About an hour before they reached Klinton, they stopped and donned clothing Lee had acquired from the deckhands on the riverboat. Simple brown wool shirt and pants, and travel-worn boots would fit in nicely.
“These clothes smell,” remarked Jacob, with disgust.
Lee smiled. “All the better.”
Klinton was little more than a trading post. Miners and trappers used it to peddle their wares, so as not to make the long journey south. Though not as dangerous as the towns near the Razor Edge Mountains, it did attract highwaymen and bandits of all sorts, hoping to find merchants foolish enough to travel without an escort.
The street lamps were just being lit, and the main avenue was still busy. The taverns still would be empty. Lee hoped to get lodging before the local riff-raff took to drink. He was familiar with this town, though he hadn't been there for many years. The last time he was there, he had gotten himself into a tavern brawl in which Millet was nearly knifed. He chuckled under his breath at the thought of Millet scolding him after the fight. He missed his company, now more than ever.
Lee led the horses down the main avenue, then down a side street to one of two lodging houses. It was by far the most run down.
“We're staying here?” asked Jacob. His lip was curled in disgust.
“We'll be staying in far worse before it's over,” Lee replied. “Compared to where we're going, this is a palace.” He dismounted. “Stay with the horses until I get a room and arrange a stable.”
Lee entered the lodging house and stood just beyond the doorway. The main hall was sparsely furnished with a few chairs and a wooden bench. An old blackened, brick fireplace in the far left wall burned brightly. Still, the room was chilly and unpleasant. A fat, balding man wearing a stained tunic was asleep in the corner, a mug of ale precariously balanced on his round belly. The lodge was otherwise empty.
Lee slammed the door shut, startling the innkeeper awake. The mug fell to the floor, shattering and splashing ale on the man's dingy trousers.
“Bloody hell!” cursed the innkeeper. He looked down at his spilled ale and grumbled. When he saw Lee standing there he frowned. “What do you want?”
“A room, fat man,” said Lee. “And be quick. And send someone to stable my horses.” He reached in his belt and pulled out two coppers.
This did nothing to change the innkeeper's demeanor. “Do I look like a groom to you?”
“No,” Lee replied. “Grooms are cleaner. Now get off your backside, and have my horses tended.”
The innkeeper snorted, then threw himself to his feet with a grunt. He walked over to Lee and snatched the coppers from his hand. “Grant!” he bellowed harshly, spittle flying from his mouth. A rustle came from behind the door just on the other side of the counter. A moment later, a bent old man emerged. Smiling a stupid, toothless grin, he moved with surprising speed.
“Yes, sir?” said Grant.
“Go stable the horses outside,” growled the innkeeper. “And don't take all night.”
Grant spun around and dashed out the door. Lee followed. After unpacking their belongings Lee tossed Grant a copper.
“Thank you, kind sir,” said Grant, almost groveling.
“Just see that they're well-tended,” said Lee.
“Of course, of course,” Grant replied. “You can count on me, sir.” He bowed low then led the horses away.
“What a wretched creature,” said Jacob.
Lee looked at his son. “I would say pitiful, rather than wretched.”
The innkeeper showed them to their room and without a word, shuffled off, cursing under his breath. The room had four walls, three cots, and nothing more. A cold draft seeped in from the cracks in the rotten floor timbers and the window had been boarded up.
Lee grinned at his son. “I've stayed in worse.” He placed his pack in the far corner. “We'll find a meal elsewhere. I doubt the good innkeeper will provide one.”
Jacob tossed his pack next to Lee's. “I hope the food in this town is better than the lodging.”
“Don't count on it.” Lee led Jacob from the room and back to the main hall. The innkeeper had retaken his place in the chair, holding a new mug of ale. “If anyone touches our belongings, I'll hold you accountable.” He tapped the hilt of his sword.
The innkeeper scowled. “Your things will be fine.”
The nearest tavern didn't even have a name, only a sign that read ‘Tavern.’
Lee surveyed the streets. The traffic had thinned a bit, and Lee suspected that in an hour or two the lodges and taverns would be full; he hoped with people that could be of use. Inside was unremarkable, and typical for a trading post tavern. Two long tables spanned the breadth of the room to the left side, and several small tables surrounded them. A fire burned in the hearth to the right beside a small bar. The bartender, a thin waif of a man, was busy arranging rows of clay mugs. The scent of cooked meat filled the air. Lee knew this would be replaced by the stench of ale and unwashed bodies soon enough.