His quarry slipped inside and quietly closed the door behind him. A heartbeat later, a dull light flickered to life in one of the rooms of the third story. Dervit glanced up, taking a few moments to study the building. A gutter ran down one side and cut over across the top of the roof. Decorative wood molding gave the building a rustic appearance, and a ledge of sorts ran beneath the window where the light spilled forth.
Dervit was by no means a spy, and his sensible side told him this whole situation reeked of trouble. Had the man entered from the front of the tavern, and not snuck in through the back, searching for followers, then he would have dismissed the whole thing and returned to Jahrra’s cabin. But something wasn’t right, and although spying on this cloaked figure meant courting danger, Dervit was going to do it.
“Perhaps this is why that awful feeling of foreboding has been haunting me the past few days. Maybe, if I see what this person is up to, it will leave me be.”
Taking one more long breath, and drawing deep for a little courage, Dervit crossed the small street separating him from the back of the building. He didn’t head for the door the man had used. Instead, he turned to the left and, as quickly and quietly as he could, climbed the rain pipe. Once he reached the third floor, he carefully stepped onto the ledge, using the gaps between the wooden shingles and the decorative molding to pull himself closer and closer to the window. He crossed beneath it, bringing himself to the corner of the building where the angle was better for peering inside without being seen. Pressing his ears flat against his head, Dervit peeked up over the window ledge and studied the scene inside.
A smoky room greeted his eyes, barely illuminated by a single lamp. Several figures, all wearing cloaks with hoods hiding their faces, lingered around the space, their long shadows dancing against the walls due to the trembling candle flame. Some stood, others sat in rickety old chairs around a table. A few leaned against the wall. They appeared relaxed, but Dervit knew below their skin they were just as jumpy as he was. He began to count them: Four, seven … ten. He swallowed as his dread blossomed into full-out panic. Ten hooded figures. Waiting in a room in a tavern on the edge of the city.
Before he could drop from the window and run back to the cabin, a sharp knock rapped against the single door leading into the room. The man closest to the door pulled it open carefully and let in another cloaked figure. Dervit was certain this was the man he had followed. The sound of the door clicking shut and the swish of fabric leaked through the cracked window. The stench of menace and fear swirled throughout the room, and once again, the limbit yearned to flee. But just like before, that unnamed force kept him glued to the windowsill, waiting and wondering what would happen next.
-Chapter Sixteen-
Treacherous Allies
Boriahs stood in the hazy room with his companions, all of them well concealed by their dark, hooded cloaks. Four of them were his own soldiers, highly trained and very deadly. The other five were traitors to the regent of Cahrdyarein, all pledging loyalty to the one who’d organized this meeting to begin with, someone known only to them as the Source. A few days after chasing the girl and her dragon behind the walls of the great city, the Source had walked into their camp and demanded to speak with the commander. Although he had kept his head covered, Boriahs had known he was one of those Resai elves from the municipality at the top of the mountain. He had been ready to throw the vermin to his soldiers for sport, but the elf came with an offer Boriahs couldn’t refuse. He told the high commander that he would capture the girl and hand her over, without her dragon guardian in tow.
When Boriahs had asked what the elf had wanted in return, his eyes had gleamed beneath the shadow of his hood.
“Only the chance to show that pathetic excuse of a regent he cannot hide from the power of the great king in the east.”
If the high commander of the Crimson King’s most elite had not been blood bonded to the most feared being in all of Ethoes, the malice in the Resai elf’s voice might have given him pause. If he wanted to injure the regent, then grabbing the girl out from under his nose in the most fortified city in the Hrunahn Mountains, besides Nimbronia of course, would definitely do the job.
A fresh wave of laughter and shouting from the Resai men and women bantering below drifted up the stairwell, making Boriahs twitch with restlessness. Where was the accursed Source? He was supposed to meet them thirty minutes ago. Raw, angry dread coursed through the high commander. Could he have betrayed them? Was this whole set up a trap for them instead of the girl and the regent? He slapped the thoughts away and growled. The events of earlier that week had put him in a foul mood. He’d given that Resai filth full control over the planning and carrying out of the campaign regarding the human girl, and it had been a disaster. He should have insisted on including a few of his own men in the ambush party.
Boriahs’ part had been to sit back and wait until the girl was delivered to the caves, where he and fifty of his most trustworthy soldiers waited. They had managed to remove most of the rubble from the landslide farther down the mountain, and with the help of their skurmages, had hidden the evidence of their progress. The dragon that flew over their masses every day only ever saw a heap of rock rubble blocking the road and the helpless army on the other side of it. He would think they were going nowhere for a very long time.
Boriahs had wanted to bring the entire army and just storm the city as they had planned, but the Source had convinced him otherwise. At the time, his argument had been valid. If he’d moved his troops forward, Cahrdyarein would have known their plans and would have had time to fortify the wall. Better to sneak in a smaller group and grab the girl out from under the regent’s, and the dragon’s, noses. Still, Boriahs had only agreed to this tactic because, despite his misgivings about trusting someone who had not even given his name, this method would mean less labor and loss of life if it worked. Not that the commander cared overmuch about the rabble he led, but if he could avoid fighting the dragon, he would.
The high commander made a sour face, still remembering his encounter with the dragon Raejaaxorix those handful of years ago in Oescienne. He knew from experience that the Tanaan beast would be even harder to defeat, now that he was primed for battle.
The door leading into the spacious second story room creaked open, and another black cloaked figure entered, as silent and insubstantial as a shadow. Boriahs straightened. The Source had finally arrived. He paused and faced his six mercenaries standing at different locations in the room. He spoke a few words in one of the old elvin tongues, his tone harsh and clipped. The men did not answer. Instead, in one fluid motion, they removed their hoods, their white-blond hair like candle wicks against the shadows, their icy blue eyes narrowed with caution. Boriahs was not surprised. The Resai elves of Cahrdyarein all descended from the same tribe of mountain elves who’d inhabited this part of Felldreim a thousand years or more ago. In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised if some of them were full-blooded elf.
Out of the corner of his eye, Boriahs caught a glimpse of movement from one of his men. It wasn’t significant enough to draw anyone else’s attention, but the commander lifted one finger from the hand tucked into the crook of his elbow. Patience. Let us see what the Source does before we speak. The soldier resumed his position of blending with the shadows in the opposite corner of the room.