Arc 2: Chapter 9: Condemnation and Dawn
The miles passed quick as trees in a forest. Soon enough, the sun lit the east, filtering wan through the omnipresent gloom squatting jealously over those lands.
I usually couldn’t see the bleak clouds of ash and storm above Seydis so clearly. I ended up shutting the coach’s window and turning to the girl.
I’d woken an hour or so before, my dreamless rest leaving me quick as a dissatisfied lover. I ran a thumb along my dream-trap ring, secure now in its usual place on my right index finger. I felt half relieved that it still worked, and half disappointed.
That dream had been so vivid. So had the pain. I clenched my jaw, shutting the memory out with an effort of will. Those visions were poison.
Emma had fallen asleep after I had. She slept still, her head pressed against one wall of the coach’s interior. Several strands of dark hair had escaped from her conservative bun to fall over her face. She looked even younger in sleep, the sharp lines of her avian face softening.
Too young for this nonsense. She’d still be a handmaiden or squire in any noble family at her age. What had drawn her into Bloody Nath’s clutches? I needed to try and get her to tell me what this was all about, find out what danger she was in, and deal with it quickly so I could return to the Fane and check on the knight-captain. I should have done it during the night, but I’d let my frustration get the better of me.
It could wait until she woke on her own. I’d meant what I’d said, about getting rest before whatever trial the two of us faced came our way.
That trial came sooner than I’d thought. Without warning, the coach dipped. I had to grab my weapon and the girl’s to keep either of us from getting injured.
On closer inspection, her sword was a truly beautiful weapon. Very nearly a longsword, with a surprising heft to it and an intricate basket-hilt pommel. The straight, double-edged blade was long as my arm and hand together. Silver designs enwrapped the hilt, done in ivy patterns ending in intricate spirals. They matched similar motifs on the black leather sheath. The image of a hawk with wings outstretched dominated the crossguard, a small red teardrop stone clutched in its talons. The ruby matched the ring Emma wore on her hand.
Emma slid in her seat and woke with a start, catching a hand on one wall. Her eyes landed on her sword.
“Don’t touch that,” she snarled, reaching for it. I let her snatch it back, bemused.