Mihrra
The road to Aeysvarth was tree-lined with beautiful valley views, and if the circumstances were not as they were, I would have enjoyed it more. We pushed the horses and made it there in a few hours, which according to Corman was record time. As soon as we entered the village, a chill rattled through my body. The stone buildings were covered in moss and mud, and a large waterfall plummeted from a cliff looming above, the spray keeping the village damp. Muddy streets sucked at the horses’ hooves as they plodded through. I had never seen a more depressing place.
Villagers peeked at us through dirty windows or from their doorsteps, watching with disdain. Denzen moved his horse up next to mine and leaned over, muttering,
“I’ve been in more pleasant cemeteries.”
I ignored him, feeling numb to any jokes. Ahead of us came the sound of music and raised voices as we approached a raucous tavern, brimming with patrons. Velian led us right to it, and we tied the horses to a hitching post and entered the tavern.
Once inside, it was difficult to believe we were in the same village. Drunk laughter filled the room, mingling with poorly played instruments, and even louder, the crazed cackling of Ziffemaddicts. They all swarmed together in a corner, coughing and laughing so hard they turned purple in the face. The scent of cheap ale and mildew soured the stagnant air even further. Velian approached the bartender and spoke with him, but I didn’t hear what was said. I scanned the room, and my gaze hitched on a blond man sitting alone in a corner.
Something about him caught my attention. He was certainly handsome, but he stuck out for a different reason. Aside from my companions and me, everyone in the room had a worn-out, downtrodden appearance. While the blond man looked sad, there was a flush of life in his pallor. He wore an expression of heartbreak differing from the bone-deep misery exuding from the rest of Aeysvarth, and because of that, I was sure he didn’t belong.
Without a second thought, I strolled over to him, stepping over broken glass and squished breadcrumbs on the floor. I vaguely heard Denzen call my name, followed by Velian, but I kept walking until I stood before him. The blond man didn’t look up at me, so I said,
“Enverro?”
His head shot up, and deep-blue eyes locked onto my face. “Who are you?”
“Are you Enverro Machendren?”
He glared. “Once again, who are you?”
A strong grip seized my arm and Denzen hissed, “Mihrra, what are you doing?”
“Mihrra?” A sequence of emotions crossed Enverro’s face as the glare shifted into a frown, then revelation, only to be replaced by despair. “You know Kezara,” he whispered.
“Yes!” My heart leaped in my chest as I tried to shake off Denzen’s grip.
“Let her go,” Velian said, standing behind me. There was an edge to his voice I had not heard before.
“Velian, it’s him!” I exclaimed, turning to face him. His expression darkened and he flew forward, grabbing Enverro by his shirt and pushing him against the wall.
“Where is she? Where’s my sister?”
Enverro did not answer, but gripped Velian’s shoulders and shoved him backward. He stumbled into me but regained his footing and sprang forward, Paolef, Corman, and Denzen joining in. They each took a limb and carried him out of the tavern, kicking and hollering. The room quieted as everyone stared at us but did not intervene. I threw the bartender an apologetic smile as I followed the men out the door.
Once outside, Velian ordered, “Mihrra, grab the rope from Corman’s saddle.”
I did as instructed, handing the rope to Velian. My hands were folded in front of me as I watched Velian tie Enverro’s hands together and secure him to the hitching post that stood at waist height. Paolef removed a knife from his belt and tossed it up in the air, catching it by the blade.
“Now, let’s try again,” Velian said, coolly. “Where is my sister?”
“I don’t know who your sister is.” He looked at the ground.
“Fine then. Are you Enverro Machendren?”
“Obviously.”
Paolef threw his knife at the hitching post, barely missing Enverro’s hands. He yelped in fear.
“No need for such sarcasm, friend. Just answer me honestly and no one has to get hurt.” Velian’s tone remained casual, but I licked my lips nervously, hearing the undercurrent of frustration. “As I understand, you work for the king by holding people in a cell in your home rather than the castle, is that correct?”
Still staring at the ground, Enverro said, “Yes.”
“And what happens then?”
Enverro didn’t answer and Velian jerked his chin at Paolef, who launched a second knife at Enverro’s feet, eliciting another yelp as he jumped in the air.