The Elder Blood Chronicles Bk 1 In Shades of Grey (11 page)

“I swore to obey Caspian, not you Symphony. I
mean no offense, but this does not concern you,” Havoc growled.

“If you want your answers, you will bloody
well sit your ass down,” she snapped back in a voice that would do
any field commander proud. Her expression was deadly serious, her
hand on the hilt of her own blade.

Havoc turned a glare toward her and slowly
sat back down. His eyes never left her face and his expression said
she had limited time to explain before this got ugly again. A
Firym’s temper was never something to scoff at. Victory knew that
particular lesson well. During the early part of their partnership,
he had been in more fights than he could count, due to that temper.
He had actually gone so far as to pray to an Aspect or two for a
change of partner. Things were different now. They had been through
too much together and had fought beside each other too long. If
Havoc pushed this fight, he would back his partner, Aspects be
damned. He had to admit that Havoc did have a point. For ten years,
they had watched over Jala from a distance. In a way, she was under
their protection, and they did have a right to know.

“We need her because of her Bloodlines. Since
the fall of Merro, her line is extinct. We need her trained so she
can access her powers to their full potential. We have kept her at
the Temple to keep her pure and free of the backbiting nature of
Immortals. We wanted her untainted by political ties or House wars.
She must make her own judgments. Due to that lack of knowledge, we
have placed her in a delicate situation, so I send Charm.” She
motioned to the rogue and continued to match Havoc’s glare. “He
will watch over her without her even knowing. That is why he has
been chosen. You are not a subtle creature, Havoc, which you have
proven quite clearly today. For now, that is all the answers you
are going to get. I will not jeopardize the girl further to comfort
you, no matter how loudly you whine.”

Havoc seethed at her words and started to
rise again.

“Move from that chair and I’ll have your legs
off at the knees,” Symphony growled.

“I believe I will take Isador with me.”
Charm’s voice cut through the tension like a knife. He dropped
lightly down from the rafters landing as gracefully as a cat. He
wasn’t a very large man barely at the height of five ten with a
build of wiry muscle. He crossed the room soundlessly, his soft
boots making not even a scuff on the stone floor. He wore dark
leathers all shades of grey to blend with any shadows. “I will
watch her as if she were my own daughter, Havoc. If you like, I
shall make reports to you and Victory so that you may be at ease
for her wellbeing,” he offered.

With a sigh, Victory relaxed back in his
seat. He could see the tension leaving Havoc’s shoulders. The
slight Symphony had given him was not forgotten, but for the moment
it was set aside. “We would thank you kindly for that, Charm,”
Victory said with a slight smile. He gave the rogue a look that
showed he thanked him more for his intervention than the offer of
reports.

Charm returned the smile easily. “Think
nothing of it, tis no trouble,” Charm replied with a slight bow. He
turned gracefully to face Symphony. “With Milady’s permission I
would gather what I will need for the journey and make haste to
Sanctuary. I would prefer to arrive before the girl.”

Symphony’s face had softened once more, and
she gave him a gracious nod. “That would be most appreciated,
Charm, and I think Isador is a splendid choice of a partner. Thank
you.”

Charm gave her a deep bow as graceful as a
dancer and stood, turning to leave. With a quick flip of his hand,
he pulled his cloak up concealing his pale blond hair, blending
even more with the shadows before leaving the room. Had it not been
for the stubborn door guarding the room, Victory wasn’t sure he
would have known when the man left the room. With a smile, he
looked to Caspian. No doubt that was the true reason all doors in
the Fionahold seemed to fit so poorly. It wasn’t for lack of
carpenters; it was the surplus of sneaky people. He gave a slight
chuckle at the revelation and rose, also. “Havoc and I should be
off, as well,” he said with a slight bow of his own. It would be a
minor blessing of Fortune if he could get the Firym out of the
Fionahold without further incident.

Fortune was apparently smiling though because
Havoc stood without objection and left the room without so much as
a by-your-leave. Victory watched him go, and glanced back at
Caspian. With a slight shrug, he gave the Lord Commander a smile.
“Manners have never been his strong point, Milord.”

Caspian gave a slight chuckle and smiled.
“Firym have very little use for etiquette, Victory. Safe journeys
to you and do try to keep him from starting a brawl in the
Warrens.”

“I will do my best, Milord,” Victory agreed
with a sigh and followed his partner from the room.

It was late evening by the time the coach
jounced its way into Brannaford. The city had grown since the last
time she had been here, and she found herself looking around in
dismay. She heard the driver clucking to the team of horses as he
pulled the coach to a rough stop outside a gateside inn.

“An’ ‘ere ya be, M’lady.” He called back to
her. His accent was so thick it was difficult to understand
. He
must be from one of the far Northern provinces, to have an accent
such as that
. She wondered briefly to herself as to what had
brought him so far South to work but shrugged off the thought
quickly. She had more direct things to worry about. She considered
asking directions of him, but decided it wasn’t worth the trouble
of deciphering his answer. Surely she could find her own way.

“Thank you, sir. Would you kindly help me
with my trunks,” she called back as she gathered her belongings
inside the coach. Her answer came in the form of a solid thump from
outside the coach. Eyes wide, she looked through the window to see
the smaller of her two trunks rocking lightly in the dirt, from its
drop from the top of the coach. She glanced up in time to see the
second, heavier trunk, teetering above her head, and barely pulled
back inside the window as it, too, dropped to the dusty road.

“I suppose that would be a yes,” she
grumbled, as she stepped down from the coach, before the driver had
a chance to toss her out, as well. “Thank you, I suppose. Most kind
of you.” Her tone was a bit brittle as she spoke, drifting her gaze
from her battered trunks to the driver. She doubted he even noticed
her words, though, let alone her tone. With his quick nod to her,
the coach was pulling away. She watched him leave the gates with a
bit of confusion. Why was he in such a hurry? Surely, he would take
an inn until he got another passenger. It surely wasn’t worth it to
him, to leave empty.

She waved her hand lightly at the dust the
horses had stirred with their leaving, and coughed gently. With a
sigh, she cast a glance about her in hopes she would recognize some
part of Brannaford from her childhood trips to the market with her
father. Her eyes drifted across the gate behind her, and she felt
another sigh. Brannaford barely had a road the last time, let alone
a wall and gate. This part of town didn’t look anything like what
she remembered. She wasn’t even sure these buildings had been here
the last time. She remembered a general store and a stone inn at
the outskirts, but the buildings around her were wooden.

She turned her attention to the inn behind
her, hoping for a helpful individual. Those hopes quickly died, as
she took in the rundown appearance of the building, and the even
more rundown appearance of the few individuals that sat quietly on
the porch, watching her with mild interest. One of them, a shaggy,
dirty looking fellow, was actually sharpening a knife as he
watched. When her eyes locked on him, he spat something into the
filthy boards before him. She blanched in disgust and turned back
to the gate.

Surely there were guards posted there that
could offer advice or protection for that matter. She saw no signs
of guards, but saw a cart drawn by two plodding mules, moving ever
so slowly toward her. She felt her hopes rise as it neared. Perhaps
she could hire them to tote her trunks to the docks. She couldn’t
imagine how she was going to get them there otherwise, and she knew
she couldn’t drag them all the way there. She was also sure they
would be stolen if she went to hire someone to carry them. Her
hopes dimmed a bit as the cart creaked closer and she was able to
recognize the cart’s cargo: stacks and stacks of poultry cages
containing some very unhappy chickens. It was still better than
nothing, she thought, as she studied the driver. He seemed a decent
enough looking fellow and a typical farmer. His face was rough and
deeply tanned, but he didn’t have the dangerous look such as the
men behind her at the inn. He had a boy riding on the back of the
wagon who looked to be just slightly younger than she. Both he and
his father seemed on guard, and she didn’t miss the fact that both
had stout wooden cudgels beside them. Still, she had limited
choices, and they appeared to be the best of the ones she had. She
cleared her throat and called out to them. “Excuse me, good sir. I
wonder if I might hire your services.”

The old man stopped the cart, his expression
full of suspicion as he took in the sight of her, her trunks, and
the array of men behind her now paying closer attention than she
would have liked. “What services would you be wanting, young miss?”
he asked, his eyes more on the men now, than her.

“My coach dropped me at the gate, and I need
to get to the docks. It would be a simple enough matter if not for
my trunks. I wonder if you might have enough room on the back of
your cart to get me a bit closer.”

The old man nodded with his focus remaining
keen on the inn’s occupants. “Aye, Thomas. Get her trunks up on the
cart. You girl go ahead and climb on up here.” The boy was moving
before he had finished speaking and already had a trunk loaded
before she could thank him. He was obviously in just as much of a
hurry as her coach driver had been. She took the hint herself and
climbed quickly onto the bench beside the old man. No sooner had
she settled on the seat, than he was clucking to the mules once
again.

He kept his eye on the inn until they were
well past it and then glanced to her. “Not a good place your coach
left you in. Brannaford’s not a safe place no more. Used to be one
could trade without a worry here on account of Merro’s soldiers
keeping a patrol across the border. But with Merro a wasteland and
all the soldiers dead, ain’t no place safe.”

“I hadn’t realized it had grown so dangerous.
It’s been years since I have been here,” she said, keeping a wary
gaze on the town as they rolled past. It did seem rougher with most
of the buildings in ruins and the meaner look about the
townspeople. “You still trade here though?” She asked, doubtfully.
None of the townsfolk looked as though he had the money for even
the scrawniest chicken.

“Trade, that’s the truth of it. Don’t get
coin no more, but I can get the things I need in barter. It’s all
barter these days,” he grunted and shook his head. “Don’t stay here
past dark, though, not for nothing. Used to be I’d stay at an inn,
have a few pints, and listen to the talk fore I’d head back.” He
spat in the dirt beside the cart and shook his head again in
obvious disgust. “No inns worth going in no more, and got no talk
I’m like to want to hear.”

She wasn’t sure how to respond so she
remained silent and traveled her gaze over the town again. It would
seem Merro wasn’t the only country the magic had destroyed. She
simply hadn’t realized how bad this one was. Her life had been
sheltered at the Temple, and while few prayed for luck, the ones
that did had never mentioned how bad the rest of the country was.
She felt relief as the docks came into sight. She could see several
ships rocking at anchor. Soon enough, she would be safely on the
Quicksilver
and on her way to Sanctuary. As quietly as she
could, trying hard not to draw the old man’s attention, she fished
a few copper out of her purse. She was surprised no one had noticed
it yet and truly didn’t want to draw attention to the weight of it.
She placed the coppers on the bench beside the old man and smiled
at him. “Thank you so much for the ride, sir. I’m not sure what I
would have done, had you not come along.”

“Died in an alley penniless with your throat
slit, no doubt.” His tone was dire, and she felt herself pale a
bit. “If you were lucky that woulda been it,” he added, glancing at
her. She paled further and nodded. He scooped the coppers off the
bench and pulled the cart to a stop. “Thomas, get them trunks
down,” he barked, not even bothering to look back at the boy who
was already scrambling to obey.

With another glance around, she climbed
carefully down from the cart and moved over to stand by her trunks.
“Thank you so much, Thomas.” She smiled at the boy. He gave her a
quick glance and shuffled his feet with an awkward nod. Silently,
he clambered back onto the cart as the old man clucked again to the
mules.

The docks, she noted with pleasure, actually
had guards posted. No doubt hired by the merchants and not actual
city guards, but still it was something. She glanced down at her
trunks again and sighed before looking up to find the closest
guard. She cleared her throat and called out to him. “Excuse me,
Sir Guard. I wonder if I might trouble you for a moment.”

The guard gave her an appraising look, smiled
to his partner, and sauntered over. “Trouble me as long as you
like.” He smiled at her in a way that was not at all
reassuring.

“I’m to take ship here, and I wonder if you
might be able to direct me to her dock? I don’t wish to leave my
trunks behind to search her out.”