Legend of the Ravenstone (10 page)

“What about the duke?” Kariayla asked. “Do you think the Demon murdered him? And how did it get past his guards? They almost seemed to be expecting the attack.”

Arcturus raised an eyebrow. “Expecting or anticipating? To expect is to place confidence in what one knows will occur. To anticipate is to make an educated guess at a likely outcome. I believe Duke Dinorthon, based on rumors and stories, anticipated an attack. He attempted to protect himself accordingly, but somehow his defenses failed him. I cannot say as to how this happened, but the result is clear. I have no doubt that the ‘demon’ was responsible for his murder—especially if said demon did possess some sort of illusionary magic. It is a tragic loss indeed.”

“Why would the thieves want anyone dead? Aren’t they only thieves?”

Arcturus shook his head. “Ah, but thieves and murderers arise from the same ill-intentioned members of society. In my mind, their morality is compromised, and I see little difference between the two. Both are criminals and deserve fitting punishment. Unfortunately, the common folk like you and like me tend to be the victims of such deviants. I have no sympathy for those who choose a wrongful path.”

Kariayla was troubled by his words.
Anyone but a criminal would agree with him.

They walked on through the dreary morning, and even as rain turned to drizzle, they kept their hoods up and their heads down. She avoided the puddles while Arcturus plodded right through them. The occasional mounted traveler would pass them by, and Kariayla would see the Markanturian lift his head and watch the retreating cavalier with envy. Eventually his steps grew labored, and his staff came to serve him as a third leg. His stomach started a new conversation—one of protest and complaint. Arcturus said nothing of it, however, and at last Kariayla decided to stop.

“I’m feeling a little hungry,” she said. “Do you think we might rest?”

Arcturus nodded, relief upon his face. “As it suits you, my dear.” They moved off the road and ventured a short way into a stony field. Each found a proper rock for sitting, and Arcturus cast down his hood. “I do believe the rain has stopped.”

Kariayla looked skyward. “And the white hawk has followed us.”

“Hmph.” He dug in his bag for some bread and cheese. “I will accept it as a good omen only after it delivers us to a friendly village with adequate food and shelter.” He handed Kariayla his costrel. “This will take the chill from you.”

She accepted the offering and watched him carefully withdraw the map. He studied it for a moment before presenting it to her. “According to this fine work, we should reach a village before the day is through. ‘Fieldston.’ A creative name.”

Kariayla nibbled on her cheese. “I was thinking about our route,” she said slowly.

“Were you?”

“Yes. And I was thinking about what Jaharo told me about the Freelands.”

“Hm.”

“I think it would be best if I hid my wings, Arcturus.”

“Absolutely not.”

Kariayla frowned. “I’m afraid of how the people will treat us when they see—”

“A couple of travelers?” Arcturus shook his head. “Even if you concealed your wings, I cannot conceal my skin. Nor would I, given the choice. We are who we are, and the worst we can expect is to be avoided out of fear.”

“Is that the worst?” Kariayla asked warily.

Arcturus rolled up the map. “To what extreme do you anticipate the commoners to respond? Fear is not just cause to act. We are seeking food and lodging; we present no threat.”

“Perhaps not, but I would feel better if I could hide my wings.”

Now it was Arcturus who frowned. “Will that truly put your mind at ease?”

Kariayla nodded.

“Only in the towns, then,” he said, leaving no room for argument. “For the pain you must endure, I will not have it.”

“Thank you,” she said, and passed him back the wine.

“It is not a gesture worthy of thanks,” he said, taking a long drink.

~*~

D
usk was upon them when they reached Fieldston, and the ambiguity of the fading light was a comfort—at least to Kariayla, who harbored her doubts about their reception. Arcturus, however, walked confidently into the local inn with his coin purse in hand. Kariayla was not sure if he believed they would be treated fairly or if he was merely eager to have a warm bed in which to sleep for the night. He wore a pleasant smile, lowered his hood, and proceeded to address the innkeeper, heedless of the stares from the surrounding patrons at the bar.

“My good sir, we are in need of a hot meal and two rooms for the night.” He set the purse on the counter, his hand firmly upon it.

The innkeeper did not as much as glance at the money. “We’re full.”

Arcturus took a breath. “Your pardon?”

“I said we have no room for you,” the innkeeper said, straightening.

Kariayla moved closer to Arcturus, and he patted her shoulder. “My companion and I have been traveling all day. We are thoroughly soaked, chilled, tired, and hungry.” He tapped the purse. “We are here as patrons, prepared to pay for at least one room and a simple meal.”

The innkeeper folded his arms. “There’s no place here for you.”

“We have nowhere else to go,” Arcturus said flatly, “and I find it difficult to believe that your entire establishment is occupied this night.” He drew back his shoulders and lifted his chin. “Now, if you are in the business of making money, I will oblige you my coins for some accommodations.”

The man’s face tightened, but then a middle-aged woman hurried to his side and whispered in his ear. Arcturus and Kariayla waited expectantly.

“One opening,” the innkeeper said. “It’ll cost you a chime.”

Arcturus’s eyes widened. “A room in Belorn’s palace would not cost a chime!”

“That is my price. The alley is free.”

The Markanturian thumped his staff. “This is robbery. You are purposely charging us more because we are foreigners in these parts.”

“Welcome to the Freelands,” the innkeeper said with a dark grin. Several of the men at the bar chuckled.

“Come, Kariayla,” Arcturus said. “We will find another inn.”

“There isn’t one,” the man said. “Mind you, the rats come out once it’s dark. You’ll need that stick of yours to beat them off you.”

Arcturus looked at Kariayla, then back at the innkeeper. He gave a sharp thump of his staff and dug into his purse. “You should be ashamed,” he grumbled, “to take advantage of paying customers.”

The innkeeper shrugged and called to a lanky, sleepy-eyed boy standing at the hearth. He took the lad aside, gave him instructions and a lantern, and pointed him to the travelers. “Ben will show you to your room and bring you your meal.”

“Such service,” Arcturus muttered, following suit behind the boy. They moved into a hall lined with several doors. Ben took them past these, rounded the corner into a darkened passage, and presented a door at its end. He opened the door and held the lantern out as far as his arm would stretch, picking his way down a narrow set of stairs.

Kariayla felt the cool, dank air and shivered. Arcturus stood beside the boy and folded his arms. “Please do not tell me that I paid a chime to sleep in a cellar.”

“This is your room, sir,” the boy said with a shrug.

“Does it not seem strange to you that there is no bed? Or do you make a habit of sleeping atop barrels and crates?” Arcturus asked, furious.

“It’s all right,” Kariayla said, trying to be positive. “It must be better than an alley.”

“Only in that the rats may have alternative food sources,” Arcturus said, his voice rising. “This is unacceptable. Take us back to your employer so that he can return my chime.”

“There were a few people at the bar,” Kariayla whispered to him. “Are you sure we should confront the innkeeper?”

“He must answer for this injustice. Neither of us will gain anything, as he will return my coin, and he will keep his cursed cellar free of foreign travelers. I will take care of this, my dear, and then we will find another place to take shelter—even if I must knock upon every door of this town to plead our situation.”

Kariayla bit her lip and followed him back up the stairs. The innkeeper’s cruel smile faded when Arcturus made his demand.

“I think I’ll keep your chime for the trouble you’ve caused me,” he said. “You best leave now before I have you removed. We don’t like casters around here.”

“Casters?” Arcturus exclaimed. “You take us for some common magicians? We have done nothing more than ask for a room.”

“Your kind causes trouble,” the innkeeper said. “And I don’t take kindly to trouble.”

“Then you will return my money, and we will be on our way,” Arcturus said.

The innkeeper did not budge, but several of the patrons did. They approached the counter.

“Arcturus,” Kariayla whispered, tugging on his sleeve. “We should go.”

He bent to speak in her ear. “I have this matter under control. All I ask is that you follow my prompting. If they see us as casters, casters we shall be.”

Before she could protest, he straightened and cleared his throat. “Since you insist on stealing from my purse and ejecting us from this hovel, I have no choice but to act in our defense.” He thrust Whitestar before him, and the men beside the counter exchanged nervous glances. In a loud, clear voice, he uttered three foreign words, and the staff began to glow. The men backed away.

“You will either give us a room, or you will return my money,” Arcturus said. “If you do neither, I will bring such a storm as to raze this building from its foundation.” He nudged Kariayla.

She tried to focus on the lingering clouds in the sky. She did not need to summon a raging tempest—just an echo of thunder would be enough to give Arcturus credibility.

“You wouldn’t dare use your magic on us,” the innkeeper said, though he had backed away with the rest of the men.

“You have been given a fair choice,” Arcturus said. “My companion and I deserve as much respect as any of your patrons. If I must use my great powers to prove us worthy, then so be it. The choice is yours.” He spread wide his arms and looked toward the ceiling.

A celestial growl rattled the windows and inspired shouts from the defending patrons. The innkeeper cursed and gaped at Arcturus. “Wh-what do you want?”

The Markanturian sighed. “As I have said: a room and a hot meal would be my preference to finding another location.”

“Fine! Done!” The man tossed the chime onto the counter.

Arcturus spoke, and Whitestar’s glow faded. “We will pay for the room so long as it does not resemble a cellar.”

“Take whatever room you want,” the innkeeper said.

“You are most generous,” Arcturus said dryly. “And please do not forget our meal. Kariayla and I will be dining in privacy.”

~*~

T
he following days passed curiously without incident. As they moved from town to town, there were always places to stay and meals to be had. Arcturus’s mood brightened considerably, and he even took the liberty to travel with his hood down. At his encouragement, Kariayla no longer concealed her wings, but there was nothing he could say to ease her concerns.

“Though I regret how we have come to earn this grudging respect,” Arcturus said, “we must look well upon it. Had we not asserted ourselves, I am reluctant to think what would have become of us in this ‘lawless land,’ as they call it.”

“I don’t know if it is respect,” Kariayla said. “I think they’re afraid of us.”

“In fear there is often healthy respect,” Arcturus defended. “But this is only a short stint of our journey. According to our map, we should reach Valesage tomorrow. We will find our tracker and never once look back upon these concerns of yours.” He gestured to the sky. “Even your hawk spirit has been with us this entire time. I am starting to believe your theory of its protection.”

There was a moment of silence as they walked, and Arcturus looked down at his companion to find her brooding. “What is the matter, my dear?”

“Do you believe in the Great Spirits, Arcturus?”

He adjusted the bag on his shoulder and cleared his throat. “By ‘spirit’ I assume you mean an influential and intangible presence that governs some unnamed power. No, I do not believe in such beings, for I have never been presented with evidence of their existence. I do, however, place credence in natural forces such as magic, life, death—” he glanced at her— “storms....”

“Do you not think that some of those forces are governed by spirits?” she asked, obviously perplexed by his answer.

“I think some things are difficult to explain. It would be easy to attribute such things to mysterious forces, but there is a logical cause for all that we see if we take the time to observe. I can, for example, tell you that a giant dragon lives in the sky and stomps upon the clouds to make it rain. But it is a fantastical notion with no basis in reality, no proof to be witnessed. However, you in particular would know that the clouds carry moisture and follow cycles. By observing the type of clouds overhead, you could tell me if it would rain today.”

“The spirits are part of that natural order, Arcturus.”

He stopped and faced her. “Have you ever seen such a spirit, Kariayla?”

She shook her head.

“Well, then there—”

“I have heard them,” she insisted.

“You have heard them,” he echoed, dubious. He could see she was earnest, and he did not want to shatter her beliefs, but nor could he accept that such an intelligent young lady would place faith in fairies and folklore.

“In the temples of my homeland, they would speak to us. The Great Spirits are real.” Her brow furrowed. “Must you see them to believe in them?”

“A visual appearance would help convince me,” Arcturus said. He patted her shoulder and started walking again. “In all my years I have seen many fantastic occurrences but never a ‘spirit.’” He chuckled to himself. “Or perhaps they speak too softly for me to hear.”

Kariayla lagged behind him. “You don’t believe me,” she said.

He could hear the hurt in her voice. “My dear, do not take insult. I believe we all interpret our world differently—not only as individuals but culturally as well. Look at the Humans. They believe in a giant man named Jedinom who carries a golden sword.”