“How about a hard ride through the woods Phrym?” she said, leaning down and scratching her semequin’s neck. He whickered and tossed his head. Jahrra grinned and turned him southward towards the city’s exit.
The air was crisp and cool but held the tang of the approaching spring. Already wild crocuses were beginning to show their colors, painting the quiet forest floor in lavender, gold and white. Phrym ambled along, his hooves digging into the soft, black earth of the trail and kicking it up in great clumps. Jahrra took a deep breath and released it, no longer feeling so tired.
They were now a few miles from the city walls on a trail she had taken a hundred times, the sun pouring over the hills and flooding the world in golden light. Jahrra slowed Phrym to a walk and relaxed in the saddle, her mind lingering on the events of the past several hours. She had expected some anger about Jaax’s rash decision but she hadn’t expected Rohdann’s reaction and threats.
A rustling in the bushes to her right caused her to stiffen but it was only a pheasant, frightened by their presence. Phrym nickered and Jahrra grinned. Everyone seemed to be jumpy this morning.
Reluctantly, she turned her thoughts back to the aftermath of the meeting. She was tempted not to tell Jaax about her encounter with the black Tanaan dragon but then she remembered what had happened when she had decided not to tell anyone about Shiroxx. Would Kehllor speak with Jaax this time? Would he consider it his new found duty? Probably. She sighed and reminded herself that Rohdann’s threats, unlike Shiroxx’s covert insinuations, were a credible danger.
The trail through the woods remained relatively silent for another mile or so and Jahrra continued to keep Phrym at a slow pace. He was eager to run; sidestepping and even picking up his forelegs as if to charge down the next straight away, but Jahrra kept a firm hand and told him she would let him run when they reached a clearing. Phrym obeyed her, of course, but he complained about it the entire time, swinging his head and snorting.
Jahrra didn’t hear the voices until she and her antsy semequin were nearly upon the people who belonged to them. The road curved wide and Jahrra could see where the mud had been carved deeply from wagon wheels. A small meadow settled into the hollow on the inside curve of the path and a cheery brook chattered in the not too far distance. On the flat patch of land just above the meadow a wagon was parked, the two draft horses attached to it standing in boredom.
The cart was a small, rickety thing piled full with what Jahrra could only classify as junk: old pots and pans, broken furniture, dusty blankets folded and stacked, tools and what suspiciously looked like rusty weapons shoved underneath it all.
Jahrra stopped Phrym several feet away and took stock of the whole situation, listening to the conversation before drawing any conclusions.
“Listen, you old hag, we know you’s got truffles hidden away here somewhere and we wants ‘em,” a burly, middle-aged Nesnan man with shaggy black hair said.
The woman next to him, close to his age but with faded blond hair and a stocky build, was scuttling around a much older woman, trying to get close enough to take something from her.
Jahrra tightened her hold on Phrym’s reins and forced herself to stay still for a moment longer.
“I haven’t any truffles,” the woman croaked, “but I do have some fine mountain mint.”
A gnarled hand held out a sprig of greenery but the man batted it away. The woman pulled her hand back and hissed.
That’s when Jahrra shouted, “Hey!”
Before she could say anything more the man’s wife yelped and fled for the wagon, her husband right on her heels. The rough man jumped up into the wagon seat and slapped the reins, bringing the lethargic horses to full alert.
“Git up!” he snapped and the horses jerked the wagon forward, spilling a few of its contents as they picked up speed.
Jahrra couldn’t believe how easy that had been but wasn’t about to question her luck. She clicked Phrym forward to where the old woman stood, still hiding under her hood. She hadn’t moved much since the thief had abused her hand so Jahrra was worried she might be injured.
“Are you alright?” she asked, climbing down from Phrym. She kept her distance, but approached the woman cautiously.
“Well, I’m fine now that I’ve seen your welcoming face.”
The woman’s voice had changed. She threw back her hood, a pair of topaz eyes and a young, smiling face framed by flaming red hair gazed back.
Jahrra’s jaw dropped and she felt her knees buckle. After an entire night spent arguing with the Coalition it was no wonder the shocking sight made her stagger. She couldn’t be seeing what she was seeing but after blinking several times, the image of the familiar woman standing before her did not disappear.
“Denaeh!” she squeaked in utter disbelief. “What on Ethoes are you doing here?!”
The Mystic stepped forward and grasped Jahrra’s elbow, doing her best to haul her up from where she had fallen in the mud. Once she was standing again, Jahrra threw her arms around her old friend, tears forming in her eyes.
Denaeh returned her embrace, laughing the entire time. “Look at how much you’ve grown!”
She pulled away and held Jahrra at arm’s length, looking her up and down. “I knew you would outgrow me someday, but I never imagined it would be so soon.”
The sound of Denaeh’s young voice was like a breath of fresh air.
“And what a fine young woman you’ve become,” the Mystic continued with a playful look. “I should think you have plenty of young men trailing after you in that grand city of yours.”
Jahrra actually felt herself blush, thinking of Senton’s recent attention.
“Oh Denaeh, it’s so good to see you! Where have you been?” she managed, surprised her mind was able to form any coherent thoughts.
Denaeh dropped her hands and clasped them in front of her, the sparkle from her eyes fading a little. “I’ve been traveling, mostly. I’ve only just arrived on the outskirts of Lidien in the last few weeks or so.”
She walked over to the small fire she had built earlier and gestured Jahrra to do the same. After securing Phrym to one of the willows growing on the banks of the small stream, she joined her old friend on a fallen tree limb.
“You must tell me everything,” Jahrra insisted. “I mean, you must know why we left Oescienne, but why did you leave?”
Denaeh pulled her cloak more tightly around her and started to poke at the fire as she added some wood. She sighed and sat on the rock across from Jahrra.
“Aye, I know why you left,” she said, her face taking on a sorrowful expression. She took a breath then brightened. “Oh, but my own tale is quite long and tedious, Jahrra dear,” she breathed wearily.
Jahrra simply folded her arms and crossed her ankles, cocking an eyebrow at her old friend as if announcing she had all day.
Denaeh grinned impishly. “Very well then. I guess it is still early and I have nowhere else to be.”
The Mystic watched the fire grow to a cheerful blaze before she started her tale. “I left shortly after you and Jaax departed, after Hroombra,” Denaeh paused and looked at Jahrra.
She then cleared her throat and continued. “The Tyrant’s men scoured the area and even the Wreing Florenn for a few days but they found nothing and no trace of you or your draconic companion.”
Jahrra sat up abruptly, a single thought slicing through her mind. “Gieaun and Scede?” she pleaded, her voice sounding suddenly raw.
Denaeh gave her a pained look and Jahrra choked back a sob.
“No, no,” the woman said, waving a hand, “they are safe. No harm has come to them. They came looking for me the day after Hroombra’s death and I told them what had happened and that I knew you and Jaax had gone, but I couldn’t see where you went.”