Page 99 of An Archer's Reckoning

A smell? No, ataste.

As soon as I opened my mouth, a salty tang teased my tongue. We were nearing the northern coast. We had not been separated from the others long enough to reach one of the nearest villages, so I expected to see barren, rocky cliffs soon. The ground near the cliffs became uneven and rough, hazardous to Dittler if we moved with any pace, so I drew him to a halt and dismounted.

“We should walk a bit, okay?” I scratched behind his ear. “Father brought me to see these shores when I was little. There is not much here, only a few hermits in their huts hiding from the world, but one of them might help. I doubt a solitary man will recognize my face.”

Dittler snorted and glanced back sharply.

“I swear you understand me.” I chuckled as a shiver ran up my arm with the chill ocean breeze. “Come on. I’m freezing.”

The ground transformed, and the cliffs emerged.

In the moonlight, I could see the ocean crashing and foaming into the rock-strewn shore. I stopped and savored the view, let it wash over me, let it renew my spirit.

What is it about the ocean that lifts even the heaviest burden?

We turned and followed the cliffs northeast toward the town of Kitchton and were rewarded with the outline of a modest, ramshackle house. The porch was missing boards and looked like the sea itself had battered its wood.

Or maybe the owner used driftwood to build the place?

I stepped to the door and tied Dittler to one of the rickety posts of the porch’s railing. After a moment’s hesitation, I knocked. “Hello, anyone here?”

Only the waves stirred.

I knocked louder. “Hello?”

Still nothing.

With my third knock, I pushed the door open. The clouds had parted, and moonlight streamed in through glassless windows. I shuddered as the ocean’s breath swept through. Dust and cobwebs blanketed the place. A table and two chairs sat to one side. Another chair lay tipped on its side. A cot, not wide enough for a person to turn on, nestled against the wall opposite, its stuffing half spilled. An ancient brass lamp lay on the floor beside the bed, its glass globe shattered beneath.

No one had lived there in a long time.

The boards protested as I strode through an opening to the hut’s only other room. I tried to step carefully, but it was useless. The place was falling apart, and its planks wept at its demise.

I found another table and a few surviving kitchen tools in the other room, along with a rusted wood-burning stove, a luxury in any commoner’s house.

How had someone out here afforded a stove?

And where would they even get wood to use it?

There was nothing for leagues but fields, rocks, and ocean.

I shook my head. None of that mattered. This would be a good a place to shelter for the night, and that’s all I cared about.

I walked out and gathered Dittler’s reins, tugging him toward the door. He pulled against me and whinnied.

“I know. I do not like it either, but you cannot stay out here in this cold with that wind. Let us hope the boards hold up under your weight.”

He snorted derisively and nipped at my coat.

I chuckled and playfully swatted him away. “Great. Now you choose to be sensitive about your weight? Come on. I will give you the last apple in my bag.”

The word “apple” allayed his fears. Moments later, we were inside and nesting for the night. I cleaned off the cot as best I could, spreading a blanket over what was left of the mattress, then snuggled up under my riding cloak and closed my eyes.

I would worry about tomorrow when the sun rose.

A velvety muzzle pressed against my face, as large, wet lips smeared slobber into my open mouth.

“Eww. Dittler!” I woke, spitting and rubbing my face with a sleeve. “I know my sweat tastes of salt, but did youhaveto stick your tongue down my throat?”

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