Riven (The Arinthian Line Book 2) (48 page)

Augum exchanged a dubious look with Bridget.

“I’ll need money though,” Bawdings said, taking yet another swig from his flask. He scowled after finishing its contents. “How about some of that ale, Alb?”

“I have more than that, my old friend.” Mr. Goss served Hedrick a tall glass of ale, a wooden bowl of bread, and a plate of cheese. “Now let me see what I have got left here …” He retrieved a box above the counter hidden amongst jars of grain and handed it to Mr. Bawdings. Bawdings opened it and his face lit up like a child receiving cake.

“My entire savings,” Mr. Goss said.

“Mr. Goss, you can’t,” Leera said. “What about money for food?”

“We will manage, right, Leland?”

Leland moaned with a nod.

Mr. Bawdings began counting. “Hmm, I hate to say it, but this might not be enough.”

Augum immediately reached into the rucksack, retrieved the rest of their money, and handed it over.

Mr. Bawdings counted it all out, stuffed it into the same pouch Mr. Goss gave him earlier, and shrugged. “It’s enough to try, I suppose. If anything, I’ll throw in some of me own then, eh?”

“You are a good man, Hedrick. I will never forget this.”

Bawdings raised a wavering glass, ale slopping to the floor. “To being a good man. I’ll leave as soon as I finish me ale.”

Mr. Goss flashed Augum and Leera a reassuring smile, but Augum, who had been watching Mr. Bawdings’ eyes droop lower and lower, was unconvinced of the plan. “Let’s follow him,” he whispered into Leera’s ear. She immediately nodded in agreement.

They sat listening to Mr. Bawdings’ stories, which turned into drunken diatribes, mostly about magicians and their foul ways, or the Legion and its foul ways, or thieves and bandits of all sorts and their foul ways. The only magician sort Mr. Bawdings didn’t seem to mind were healers, and that was because one once mended a broken arm he received in a tavern fight. Although it was offensive to a warlock to get confused for a magician or wizard, and arcanery to be confused for magic, no one complained, trying to keep Mr. Bawdings on their good side. After all, he could very well pull through for them.

“Perhaps you might like to stay the night and try to find the healer tomorrow, Hedrick,” Mr. Goss said after helping Bawdings stand from a most unceremonious chair slip.

“Nonsense, Alb—” he paused to burp loudly and thump his heart. “I’ll be swell. I come from northern stock. These here veins can take— He suddenly stopped, frowned, and his eyes rolled up into his head. He slumped back in his chair, snoring.

Mr. Goss only shook his head. “Oh, my old friend, how little has changed.”

“Will he be all right?” Augum asked, taking the empty ale glass from Mr. Bawdings’ hand.

“I imagine so. He will sleep it off, wake in a few hours, then go and find Bridget a healer.” Mr. Goss beckoned to help him lower the man to the ground. “He has not been the same since his wife died.”

Augum placed the big man’s arm around his shoulder. “How did she die?”

“Ridge fever, years ago.”

Augum had seen ridge fever once. Back in Willowbrook, a girl his age had come down with it. Ridges formed on her skin, especially her face. She fought it off but the fever left her with awful scars, aging her twenty years. She was called names like “Ridge Ogre” or “Goat Horn”. The poor girl ended up taking her own life.

Mr. Goss fetched a small cushion and placed it under Mr. Bawdings’ head. “He often joked how she was the envy of every man that laid eyes on her, what with her night black skin and fierce orange eyes. They were madly in love. Poor soul hit the bottle and quite lost his composure.”

“That’s awfully tragic,” Haylee said. “Had you ever seen her yourself?”

“Oh, once, and she was indeed beautiful, almost as beautiful as—” but Mr. Goss fell silent. He finished cleaning up, quietly bid them goodnight, and took his leave with Leland.

Leera leaned close to Augum. “We’ll pack light and follow Bawdings soon as he goes. Oh, and we’re
not
taking her.” She thumbed in Haylee’s direction.

Haylee sat down in the rocker by the fire. “Why not?”

“Because—wait, how much have you heard? Stop spying—”

“You’re going to follow him, and I know what you’re thinking, but I won’t tell. I’m not like that anymore—”

“You’re going to stay behind and mind your own business, is what you’re going to do. When Mr. Goss asks where we’ve gone, you’re to say we went scavenging for supplies so he won’t worry. We’ll tell him everything when we return anyway.”

“Leera, please, what’s it going to take to make you stop hating me?”

“A miracle—” and she turned back to Augum with a
you believe the nerve of her
look.

“Maybe she could help us—” he whispered, but regretted it immediately. Leera’s eyes narrowed and her lips thinned like Mrs. Stone’s.

“Never mind,” he said quickly. Leera kept staring at him as if he’d broken a cardinal rule of loyalty.

Haylee gave Augum a mournful look before making her bed close to the hearth.

“Snotty princess,” Leera muttered as they began making their own beds near the opposite wall. The hooded lanterns were blown out. For a time, there was only the sound of creaking floorboards and the fluffing of pillows.

“I’ll take first watch,” he whispered, trying not to think about that kiss earlier.

Leera kept tossing and turning, evidently unable to sleep. She looked to him as if about to say something before changing her mind and staring at the ceiling. What was on her mind? Was she thinking about the kiss?

“So, uh,” Augum began quietly, noticing her tense up, “we’ll take the rucksack, two blankets, the map, flint and steel, and some biscuit beef—but drop everything else.”

She instantly relaxed. “And the pearl—”

“Right.” So she’s forgotten about it already.

“We’ll borrow Mr. Goss’s mitts too. I’m sure he won’t mind.”

”Okay.” He glanced at the form by the fire. He felt bad about Haylee, and wondered if there was some way he could help resolve the tension between her and Leera. “Hey, look, I’ve been thinking—”

“—no need, it didn’t mean anything to me either.”

He felt like a needle had just pierced his heart. “That’s not what I was going to say—”

Leera gaped at him a moment. Even in the darkness, he thought he saw her face redden. “Oh.”

“But thanks for letting me know,” he said quickly, unable to keep the edge from his voice.

Leera swallowed as he snatched at his blanket and forcefully turned away from her, pretending to go to bed, which made no sense at all since he was the one on watch. Whatever, he thought. She can take a turn.

Leera’s voice was very quiet. “So, um, what were you going to say then?”

“I was just going to talk about Haylee—”

“I should have known. Why are you always on her side? Why are you so obsessed with her?”

He turned back around. “What? I’m not obsessed—”

“Shh—”

“You know what, forget it.” He pulled the blanket over himself again.

“Fine then.”

“Fine.” He went back to pretending to go to sleep, completely aware of every nuance in the room—the gentle murmur of the fire, the hammering of his heart, and, to his total dismay, Leera’s absolute silence.

This lasted for what felt like a very long while.

By the time Mr. Bawdings jolted awake, the fire had dulled to a glowing heap.

“Mr. Bawdings, are you up now?” Leera immediately whispered, giving Augum the impression she had been as wide awake as him. He continued to pretend to be asleep, but kept one eye focused on Mr. Bawdings, who stared at her uncomprehendingly.

“Mr. Bawdings? Are you ready to bring Bridget a healer now?” she said.

Bawdings smacked his lips and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ugh …”

Leera quietly got up and filled a glass. “Here, have some water.”

Mr. Bawdings drank greedily, burping when he finished.

“Please, sir, you’ll wake everyone up.”

He scratched at his belly. “Where’s Albert—?”

“He’s asleep, Mr. Bawdings. I’ll see you out.”

“See me out? Where am I going?”

“You’re going to find us a healer for my friend, remember?”

Bawdings cackled like a mischievous little boy. “You should be quiet, there’s people sleeping.”

“Ugh, that’s what—never mind.”

Augum winced at the tone of her voice, but Mr. Bawdings didn’t seem to notice.

“Right … the healer thingy … all right then, I best be off, no reason to stick around this sty.” He stood up, wavered, and stretched. When he yawned, his breath was so rank Augum could smell it all the way on the floor. He had to restrain from covering up, which would have given away that he wasn’t asleep. Suddenly, he felt Leera’s loose braids fall onto his cheek.

“You can stop pretending to be asleep now and help.”

“I wasn’t pretending—” He made a show of stretching.

She rolled her eyes. “Is there anything you’ll be needing for your journey, Mr. Bawdings?”

Bawdings scratched at his beard, eyeing the empty glass on the counter like a cougar sizing up prey. “Mayhaps a bit of Albert’s fine ale, if you don’t mind.”

“I’m afraid you drank the last of it, Mr. Bawdings.”

Augum knew she was lying, but thought it smart to have him as sober as possible. He surreptitiously finished packing the rucksack while she dangled a waterskin before the man. “How about some more water instead?”

Mr. Bawdings expelled a gust of air and waved dismissively. “Bah.” He hitched up his trousers, tugged at his boots, and ascended the steps, wheezing every few as if at high altitude. He fumbled with the hatch so much Leera had to come to the rescue, deftly pulling at the rope and allowing him escape. She closed the trap door behind him, even yanking on the carpet for effect, and listened for a moment before scurrying back down. By this time, Augum was ready—he had strapped on the rucksack and fetched the mitts. He glanced at Haylee’s form—she seemed to be sound asleep.

“Wish us luck, Bridge,” Leera whispered, giving her a gentle hug.

Augum stepped in after and squeezed her hand. Her eyes followed him in the dim light of the lantern. She blinked once. He forced a smile, trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach.

Leera waited for him at the top of the steps. He caught up and the pair slipped out into the night.

Following Mr. Bawdings

The bitter cold outside stung. Clouds obscured the stars, and it was as if the moon was too frightened to show its face. The only thing in their favor was the absence of wind, though that was a double-edged sword as the lack of sound amplified their crunching footsteps.

“We have to wait,” Augum whispered.

“What? Why?”

“Eyes have to adjust to the dark first. Too dangerous to cast Shine.”

“Are you trying to torture me or something?”

“What? No, I just want to make sure we don’t get lost. Sir Westwood taught me this trick. Takes only the better part of an hour to adjust to a night like this.”

He heard her fold her arms. “So you’re saying we have to sit around—”

“Shh—I hear something.”

“Shut up, I’m not in the mood.”

“No, I really thought I heard something.” He stood there a moment, thinking the sound came from Mr. Goss’ home. It might have been an animal though. They stood in frosty silence for a bit, with only the sound of their quiet breathing.

“Guess it was nothing,” he said finally.

“Of course it was nothing, you were just being
dramatic
.”

“Huh? Why would I be ‘dramatic’?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

She said nothing.

He felt an angry flush and contemplated saying things he knew he’d regret later.

She seemed to sense this. Her voice returned to a calm state. “Well, anyway, how do you want to adjust our eyes then?”

He took his time responding. “Best do it in pitch darkness.” Then, without waiting for her to respond, he led them to the charred remains of a hut, where they plopped down to wait for their eyes to adjust.

“This is stupid,” she said after a while. “I’m freezing and we’ll just end up losing the tracks.”

“You can go anytime you want.” He said, colder than he meant to.

There was a long silence in which he thought for sure she would get up and leave without him.

“I hurt your feelings,” she said instead.

That surprised him and he didn’t know how to reply.

“I’m sorry,” she added in a quiet voice. “I mean it. I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” he said at last, allowing a thoughtful pause to pass before asking the question that had been nagging him. “Did it really mean nothing to you?”

She squirmed, taking too long to respond. “N—”

“Let’s just forget the whole thing—” he blurted, cursing himself for not being patient enough to let her put together her thoughts.

A pause, followed by a meek “Okay …”

They sat in black silence, getting colder and colder until he began to see dim outlines. “I think we’re ready. Come on, let’s go.”

“Finally.”

“Use your peripheral vision, it’s better.”

“My what now?”

“Oh, um, just look at things slightly off, as if you’re looking to the right or left of them, then you’ll see them better. Sir Westwood taught me that.”

She said nothing, but he could envision her rolling her eyes.

Soon as they left the dark hut, he knew his plan had worked. The barest amount of light shone through the clouds, making visible dark gray snow, the outlines of trees, and most importantly, Bawdings’ fresh horse tracks.

“Hey, I think this stuff you learned actually works. I can see better.”

After all her complaining, it took all his will not to say
I told you so!

They kept up a steady march, stopping occasionally to listen to the night. Mr. Bawdings had ambled northeast and finally northward, following the boundary of the forest and the Tallows.

“If we jumped over to the plains, we’d be following the same path I took on the way to Hangman’s Rock,” Augum whispered, fondly remembering that first journey when he met Bridget, Leland and, unfortunately, Robin and Commander Rames.

“Wish I had gone with them that day.”