Although the damage to the scaffolding and such was not total, the fire set the project back several weeks, Burne surmised. No one was sure if the fire had been lit to serve as a diversion for an attack in the village itself, or if the opposite had been intended. Members of the militia and some of the men-at-arms serving Rufus began to gather the bodies of the attacking bugbears. They wore the same flaming eye insignia that Shanhaevel had seen before. Something was definitely organizing the beasts and making them uncommonly bold, everyone agreed.
Shanhaevel summoned Ormiel, who had been awakened by the commotion and was none too happy at having his sleep disturbed. Bad things were in the woods, Shanhaevel projected to the hawk. Are any of them still near where the people live?
Ormiel flew around the village several times, swooping through the trees and soaring across the pastureland, but the only sign of the bugbears was their retreating footprints, which were slowly disappearing beneath the thickening blanket of snow. Shanhaevel reported as much to Melias, who looked at him askance.
“How do you know?” the warrior asked.
“Because my hawk told me. I mentioned him before. Ormiel.”
“A hawk?” Melias said, obviously a little surprised.
“Yes,” Shanhaevel replied. “Ormiel and I have a very special bond. I can talk to him and he to me, after a fashion. He patrolled the perimeter of Hommlet just now and says there’s nothing in the woods anymore.”
“Hmm.” Melias grunted. “I’ve seen enough strange things tonight. If you say a hawk told you there’s nothing out there, then I believe you. Let’s get back to the inn.”
6
Shanhaevel rested comfortably in a steaming bath, feeling the ache of three days of travel slowly seeping out of his body. More than once, Latt and Phip, the stablehands, returned with buckets of nearly scalding water to add to the tub, until the elf could barely stand the heat and told them that was plenty. A short time after that, Leah brought him towels and bade him goodnight. Listening to the sounds of the inn settling in for the night, he soaked a while longer and contemplated everything that had happened to him over the course of the long day.
He avoided dwelling on Lanithaine, instead trying to concentrate on what lay ahead of him. Joining an expedition to ferret out marauding bugbears seemed straightforward enough, and he was eager to exact some sort of revenge on Lanithaine’s murderers, but there was something more to this, he knew. The snow had unnerved him, though he couldn’t put his finger on why.
Sighing, he closed his eyes and contemplated what he would need to do to prepare for the journey tomorrow.
Finally, when the water had simmered to comfortable warmth but before it could grow cool, Shanhaevel finished the bath. Comfortably drowsy, he readied himself for bed. He stoked the fire, adding fresh wood, then doused the lamp and made his way to bed by firelight.
After crawling beneath the sheets and settling into the pillows, he let out a long, slow sigh, trying to relax his body completely. He lay there in the darkness for a moment or two, unable to avoid thinking about Lanithaine. He found himself imagining the body of his teacher, lying wrapped in his cloak beneath the pile of stones back in the woods along the road. How cold and hard that bed was, compared to the one the elf found himself in. How damp and lonely and disappearing beneath a covering of snow….
Shanhaevel shook his head and shuddered as he tried to rid his mind of the morbid vision.
He heard a noise, a low thump from the room next door where Ahleage was staying. Before he could throw back the covers and climb out of bed, however, he picked up the low murmur of conversation. He could not make out the words, but then he heard a soft, feminine giggle, followed by a muffled squeal of delight.
Leah.
Shanhaevel rolled his eyes as a string of moans and giggles emanated through the wall.
“Boccob, please don’t let them do that all night,” he groaned, half smiling. Rolling over, he pulled the covers high then wrapped one of the pillows around his head, pressing it against his ear to block out the noise. It helped some but didn’t shut out the sounds completely. For the moment, Shanhaevel forgot his grim musings about Lanithaine’s grave. Soon enough, despite the tryst next door, or perhaps because of it, Shanhaevel was soundly sleeping.
In the small room off the main taproom of the Inn of the Welcome Wench, by the light of a single, dim lantern, Burne and Melias conversed softly, planning the foray to the moathouse. A curling scroll of parchment rested on the table between them.
“You may prevail, yet, my friend,” Burne said, laying a comforting hand on Melias’ shoulder. “If what we believe is true, if the scattered priests are nearby, trying to raise the temple again, you may get the opportunity to discover the whereabouts of Prince Thrommel.”
Melias nodded “That must be the least of my worries, right now. If they somehow find her, manage to free her…”
The soldier left his thought unfinished, and for several heartbeats, the room sat in silence.
“That will be harder than you might imagine,” Burne replied. “The old seals we placed on those portals are strong, still. They will hold. But we must find the key that is mentioned in the seer’s poem,” he said, tapping the parchment before him. “We must find it before they do, and finish this, finish it like we should have ten years ago.”
“Aye,” Melias nodded. “This time, there won’t be anyone telling us to turn back. If only we hadn’t lost Falrinth that day. We could have destroyed the demon, instead of trapping her inside.”
“Yes,” Burne agreed, “but what’s done is done. He fell in battle, and we survived. We cannot go back and change history. We can, however, insure that the bindings we placed on the temple’s portals will hold the demon inside forever. I will continue to try to learn what the key is. When I know, I will send word to you. Find the key and return here. I will know by then how to destroy it.”
Shanhaevel awoke the next morning to find cheery light slipping around the edges of the curtains covering the window in his room. He stretched, feeling completely refreshed even after such a short night, for it had been spent in such a comfortable bed. He threw the covers back and dressed quickly, then parted the curtains to let in more light. He looked out. The day had dawned clear and sunny, and the eerie snow from the night before had almost melted away. From all appearances, it looked as if it would be a fine spring day.
The elf sat down at the table. Unbuckling one of his saddlebags, he slipped out a thick package wrapped in oilskin. Unfolding the protective cloth, he noted with satisfaction that his spellbook was still dry. Uttering a few syllables of magic softly over the cover of the book, he carefully opened the tome and turned the pages, thinking. It was the first time he had gone through this exercise without consultation with his teacher, and it felt strange. After a few moments of careful deliberation, he settled on the spells he wanted for the day and began to memorize them.
Halfway through his studies, there was a light knock on the door. Shanhaevel crossed over and opened it. Melias stood in the hallway, a large leather backpack slung on his back and a coil of rope draped over one shoulder.
“Aren’t you ready to go? The sun’s been up an hour, now. I’ve already been to the traders for supplies.” The man made a sour smirk that suggested the experience had been none too pleasant.