Chapter 53

Stolen Attention

There was a pleasant chill in the early afternoon breeze. Rowan loved the dry cold, he also didn’t particularly mind wet cold either. That’s not to say he didn’t appreciate a warm campfire or pulling some warmth out of his topaz. He drew some heat now, giving him a little flush, the boost of warmth in addition to the afternoon soon, he could pretend it was a summer’s day. Road contracts were always more enjoyable during the summer months, sleeping out under the moons and stars on pleasant evenings. What he really loved was a contract that would take him up to far north for the summer. To walk along the old trails he’d taken with his father and brother so many years ago.

He wondered how his brother and Daegan would fare up past Nortara without him. Tanlor—for all his poor judgement—was still an exceptional swordsman. Always had been. And despite living in the city for so much of his life, he still remembered the skills that their father had taught them both. In truth, he hadn’t ever really needed Rowan for the trip. Des—Daegan—on the hand, he was still learning. The lad had a good demeanour about him and Rowan found himself missing the man’s company on the road.

In some ways, Daegan reminded him of Rowan’s grandfather, Bodh. He too had enjoyed more than his share of whitewhiskeys, but he was a generous man and didn’t care for the notions of pretentiousness that often came with highborn folk. How his cousin Boern could be so opposite to their grandfather, Rowan couldn’t fathom.

Boern would be back in Garronforn by now, likely for the season. He’d undoubtably have some skirmish he would want Rowan to assist on. His family believed he spent so much time on the road because he simply enjoyed the outdoors—which was true in part—but the main reason was Boern. His cousin wasn’t blind to Rowan’s skill and often tried to strongarm him into fighting skirmishes along the Balfold. The Balfold had always been a contentious region; rich in resources but large portions of the land technically belonged to Duke Rivers of Nordock. This meant that Boern and Rivers often had skirmishes against one another to claim more of the land. It was usually done so under the pretence of patrols for rakmen and outlaws—both of which often attempted to stake claims on areas in the region. Rowan had little interest in being sent to kill other Rubanians to satiate his cousin's greed. He’d planned to spend the winter season at home anyway, he would just need to line up contracts for the Spring to have a valid reason to decline his cousin’s request… again.

As much as Tanlor always hated Boern, Tanlor was disappointed in how alike his brother and his cousin were. Tanlor’s rash and reckless attitude towards killing was playing on his mind. He’s not as bloodthirsty as Boern. He thought for a moment that he’d perhaps judged his brother too harshly. But then that boy’s petrified face surfaced in his mind. No, he’d have killed that lad in cold blood. For no other reason than he’d fallen in with the wrong friends. Shye had been a quiet lad. Rowan didn’t know how he’d ended up with the deserters, and if he was a deserter himself then he couldn’t have been a soldier very long. He wondered if Shye had taken Rowan’s advice and headed to Crossroads. Rowan had taken his time on the road south, if the boy had kept on as fast he’d fled the bridge that night, then he’d have reached Crossroads by now.

He considered then if he should pass through Crossroads to check in. He wouldn’t mind seeing how Wolfhound’s injuries were doing and how Mendy and the village were recovering from the raiders. Mainly, he wanted to see if Shye had indeed gone there.

He was following the River Cress south until he reached the fork in the road at a large stone marker. To the north, was the road he’d just come, east to Crossroads and then Rubastre, and south to Garronforn. It would be a three to four days ride straight south to Garronforn… but he would add a few days to his trip if he took a detour through Crossroads, he could then loop back around south through Sallins.

With a nod, he pulled the reins of his horse east towards Crossroads. Travellers on the road were always common in Rubane, sometimes people travelled alone but generally folk tended to travel in groups for safety from bandits and the like. Rowan didn’t worry so much about travelling alone. He could handle himself well enough in a fight and he was also an accomplished runewielder in combat. So when he spotted another solo traveller further ahead,, Rowan shifted his cloak to expose his sword belt. Rowan was a big man; he was tall and broad shouldered, and the sight of the sword might dissuade anyone foolish enough to mug him.

Rowan had honed his edir during his training to become a knight. While it wasn’t as perceptive as others, he was confident enough that he could identify an opposing runewielder. The man was about one hundred feet up the road and Rowan felt something brush against his edir. The sensation made him turn his head about, thinking that there was runewielder riding up right next to him. He saw nothing around but farmlands as far as the forests. He looked back up towards the man on the road. He was the only other person in Rowan’s field of vision. How could Rowan have felt that man’s edir long before he could even see his face? Normally, Rowan needed to be within a few feet of another runewielder before his edir would sense theirs. Nobody has an edir that can stretch out that far.

The man was riding quickly towards him, his horse moving in a sustainable trot. Rowan kept his going at a casual walk. As the distance between them closed, Rowan could feel the traveller’s edir flare out erratically and then recoil back inwards. It had the uncontrolled feel of a novice learning to focus it. Only it’s got significantly longer reach than a novice. As they got closer, Rowan had no doubt it was the man’s edir he was sensing. It was… frayed. The man himself was hooded in a dark cloak, tall and had a long curved blade that Rowan could make out, poking just under the cloak.

Rowan tensed as they approached each other. His right hand slowly moved to rest on the hilt of his sword. He could make out faintly the features of a man’s face underneath the cloak.

“Evening,” Rowan said in greeting. The man nodded in response, his horse not slowing as he passed. Rowan let out a breath as he felt the man’s edir fade away behind him.

Who in the hells was that?

He’d heard plenty of stories throughout the years of warlocks and such things, he’d always passed them off as exaggerated stories of runewielding. But that man’s edir felt… wrong. Erratic and uncontrolled, but someone with that much lack of control would never be able to use their edir to actually runewield in the first place. He glanced over his saddle behind him to see the man disappearing into the distance.

Very strange.

Rowan saw the clusters of wooden buildings as he crested a small hill that overlooked Crossroads. He’d slept rough for two days and was eager for a hot meal and a warm bed. As he rode into town a few locals that recognised him called out and waved.

The entire road back he’d heard the story being told; the Hunter’s Sons had cleared a band of raiders out of Crossroads—no it was the Hunter himself, hunted down a bunch of Rakmen in the hills above the village. The storytellers obviously didn’t care that Taran would have been an old man. If he was still alive.

Rowan was surprised how quickly the story was spreading. He’d fought outlaws and raiders before, sometimes under contracts, sometimes not. He reckoned it was the townsfolk of Crossroads, spreading the story. They seemed to be very grateful to Rowan and his brother for killing those raiders. Now with the reception he received riding back into town, he surmised that he was correct. Townsfolk waved and cheered him as he road towards the inn. He waved back and nodded with a grin.

He dismounted at the inn and hitched his horse. As he made his way to the door, Mendy appeared in it.

“Didn’t think you’d be coming back this way so soon,” she said with a look of surprise, “but if you think you’re getting another free night in the inn you’re mistaken. I’ve got enough freeloaders living here thanks to you.”

“Shye found his way here then did he?”

“Sure did,” she replied, “I have him round back chopping logs if you want to talk to him.” I had a feeling she’d put him straight to work if he showed up here.

“Later,” he felt a grin on his face, “I’m starving.”

“There’s stew on, take a seat inside and I’ll get one of the girls to bring you some,” she said returning the smile, “glad you’re back.”

A warm, smoky interior welcomed him. It was still early in the evening so there were only a few patrons about. His eyes quickly found a grey scraggly haired man sitting on a stool behind the bar.

“She’s got you working the bar already,” Rowan laughed.

“Eh?” Wolfhound replied, his face scrunching up in confusion.

“Rowan Shrydan,” Rowan introduced himself, holding out his hand for the other man to shake.

“By the gods,” the man wheezed, “I owe you a lot from what I hear… I hope you’re not here looking for payment,” the expression of worry that crossed the man’s face amused Rowan.

“Just passing through,” Rowan reassured him, “I’m surprised to see you up and about already. You were in a bad way when we left you here.”

“Don’t have much choice, Mendy’s a steely lass. Gotta earn my keep.” Rowan barked a laugh, Mendy hadn’t followed him in. He distinctly remembered Daegan had paid up front a few weeks for Wolfhounds recovery with that map of his. It was hanging on the wall at the far end of the bar next to the contracts board.

“Aye,” Rowan agreed, “she’s a hardy one.”

“Name’s Lenn,” Wolfhound scratched at his shaggy beard and avoided meeting Rowan’s eye, “can’t say anyone’s done a kindness for me like you lads did. I didn’t think I’d survive, if I’m being honest. What I’m trying to say is—er—well, thank you, sir. Yer a right fine man.”

“I’d like to think you’d have done the same for us, if our places were switched.”

“Not sure about that, but after what you’ve done for me… well, I won’t soon forget it.”

“What’s your plan?” Rowan asked, deciding to change the subject and free the man from his awkward attempt at gratitude. “You were heading on the road to Rubastre?”

“I was on a road contract. The merchant’s dead now though.”

“The raiders?”

“Aye.”

“Shame.”

“At least you and your brother got the fuckers, eh?”

“That we did,” Rowan said, grimly. “I guess you’re not going anywhere soon anyway,” Rowan nodded to the cane Wolfhound was using to prop himself up on the stool with.

“Nah, I reckon I’ll be sticking around here for a while. These are good folk, and it’ll be a long while before I can swing a sword again.”

“This village could do with a few fighting men anyway,” Rowan said. Rowan and Wolfhound shared a sad look. They both knew all too well how bad it could get when a group of outlaws passed through a defenceless town.

“I’m happy enough working the bar,” Wolfhound replied, “but if I need to pick up a blade again, I’ll do it.”

“Good to know.”

Wolfhound brought Rowan an ale and shared a drink with him at the bar. Soon enough, the serving girl brought him a bowl of stew that he tucked into. He shared another drink with Wolfhound and they slid into easy conversation. Wolfhound—like Rowan—worked the backroads, mostly bodyguard and escort jobs. He’d even been in a few skirmishes in the Balfold under Duke Nordock’s banner. After exchanging some stories they surmised they weren’t ever on the opposing side of a battle to each other. But that wouldn’t have been the first time that Rowan shared a drink with a man he’d once been on the other side of a battlefield.

Rowan noticed Mendy’s niece enter the inn. He couldn’t recall her name but he recognised her as one of the kids he and Tan had rescued. She had a crude sword sheathed at her hip. Very uncharacteristic of a young woman. She nodded at Rowan as he eyed the sword. He nodded in response.

“She asked the blacksmith’s boy to make that for her,” Wolfhound told him when she moved on into one of the backrooms.

“Don’t blame her, with everything she went through.”

“Some don’t think it’s right for a girl to be carrying a sword.”

“You going to say that to her?”

“Nope.”

“You should give her some lessons. Make sure she doesn't hurt herself with it.”

“Not a bad thought,” Wolfhound mused, “might do just that… if she lets me.”

After a time, Rowan’s eyes moved over Daegan’s map on the wall. He stood up and walked over to it. The man really did make for a good map maker. He ran his finger over the torn piece at the bottom. Tanlor had reacted poorly when he’d done that. The man seemed more on edge than ever. Rowan thought that his brother’s cushy job in the Dukesguard would make him less anxious. There was something else to this whole situation that Tanlor wasn’t telling him. This is more than just a mission to him.

“It’s a good map, shame about the tear,” Wolfhound said, slowly hobbling over with his cane.

“Aye.”

“You know what happened to it?”

“Nope.”

“Mendy said the lad was planning on mapping north of the Nortara?”

“Aye.”

“Dangerous trails up that way. Reckon he’ll be alright with just your brother?”

“Tanlor’s the best fighter I know,” Rowan said, truthfully, “he’s in good hands.” He turned to walk back to his seat at the bar.

“Either way, I’m glad his friend will be joining him. Hopefully he catches up to them in time”

Rowan froze.

“His friend?” Rowan asked, spinning quickly to face Wolfhound.

“Aye, another foreign fella,” Wolfhound replied, a little taken aback by Rowan’s reaction, “passed through yesterday.” Rowan’s mind flicked back to the man he saw on the road two days before. The strange man with unusual edir. Rowan attempted to school the concern on his face.

“What did he say?” Rowan asked, he could feel the urgency in his tone and he could tell Wolfhound saw the shift in the tone of the conversation.

“He saw that map,” he replied, “wanted to know about the tear in it. He was saying it’s usually where the cartographer’s stamp goes. Seemed pretty hung up on it. Anyways, that Desmond-fellow, apparently he stamped a bunch of legal documents for the locals around here the night he was here. Mendy told me did the deeds for the inn for her too.”

Rowan felt his heart racing.

“You showed him these?!”

“I don’t know where she keeps the deeds,” Wolfhound said raising his hands, “but there’s still a whole stack of his stamped papers over there,” he indicated to the end of the bar. “Locals are still waiting for someone to take them to the Duke’s office to be stamped officially.”

“He saw these?” Rowan asked, moving quickly to the stack of papers and rifling through them. Each was stamped with Daegan’s stamp. The same one that Tanlor had gotten so upset about. You stupid drunken idiot, Dessie!

“From the look on your face, I’m guessing he wasn’t no friend.”

“I have to go.” Rowan grabbed his cloak from where it hung on his chair.

“Fuck,” Wolfhound breathed, “your friend and brother, they in trouble?”

“Aye.”

“I’d help but I won’t be much use in a fight right now but I owe you lads my life.”

“I’ve got to ride fast. You’d only slow me down anyway.”

Rowan stormed out of the inn, leaving Wolfhound dumbfounded by the bar. Poor lad, how was he to know that Desmond was the Prince of Reldon being hunted by some monster assassin. He prayed that Tan and Daegan had already secured passage across Nortara. They could lose the assassin in the wilds. Tan would know the trails well enough but Rowan couldn’t just leave them.

He jumped up on his horse and leaned in close.

“Sorry, pal,” Rowan said to his horse, “I know I promised you an easy ride but we need to be quick.” His horse, bless him, didn’t understand the words but sure as hell understood the urgent tone and tore out of the village at speed when Rowan kicked his heels.