Page 45 of The Source of Storms

“The infamous head injury that dramatically changed the course of my life.” My tone was jesting, but the statement could not have been more true.

“Go on then, I want the story,” she prodded.

“I was riding from my home to Skeioholm. Thought I’d take a shortcut and stay north of the Glyg Road. I was cutting through the woods when I was stalked and then chased by a nuckelavee. I escaped across a river, but hit my head falling off my horse in the getaway.”

“Gods above, a nuckelavee? Nasty fuckers,” El said.

“Truly. They stink like a hundred rotting corpses too. Have you seen one before?” I asked.

“No, only heard of them. I know some Ironguard here have come across them. But I’ve seen a veritable menagerie of other shadowfiends out in these lands. I’ve gone along and helped the Ironguard clear them from nearby villages as well.”

“They’ve attacked villages near here as well?” I remembered Litha, the horror of a whole village under attack, the woman ripped in half in front of me.

“Rarely, but yes, they have. Usually just lone steadings, though sometimes there are so many they just make certain areas unsafe to travel through. Other times, legions of wraiths have swarmed entire towns.”

I shook my head. “And they have no guard to help them there.” There had always been a city guard in my own home village, but not its outlying steadings. It’s why all the elders preached the importance of skill with an ax or a bow. Nobody would save us but ourselves.

“No, and King Evander refuses to send aid,” El went on. “The Council petitioned him for it a few times, even after the last of them were dismissed from his court. But he says he can’t spread his guard so thin, not with the threat of the shadowfiends to his own city. He’s stationed his soldiers to protect the capital, Avanis, of course, and some other cities, but he can’t risk scattering his army to disparate villages. It would leave him too vulnerable.

“He said Avanis is open to all who need refuge, but he will send no one out to their assistance. And we all know that only means allhumanswho need refuge.”

I frowned. “Yet now he has no problem finding spare Paragon guards to send into those disparate villages to harass his own citizens.”

“Apparently not.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

We left the wolves in the back garden of the house and made our way to the tavern on the river in the city square, which El informed me was called Arcaena Square, named for the sacred river that ran through its center.

The tavern was large, built both within and between two adjacent tree trunks. An expansive outdoor patio overlooked the river, partially sheltered by canvas suspended between tree branches. Woven into the branches beneath it, twinkling enchanted lights glowed over the patio, painting it warm and orange in the evening light. We entered the large double doors and were met with heat from a towering stone hearth in the back of the building. A long, deep red wooden bar ran the length of one wall, and a stage––where a string band played––sat against the opposite. The hum of conversation floated about the room, mingling with the music.

I spotted Byrgir at a table near the back, seated across from a dark haired man. We wove through crowded tables to reach them.

“Ellie!” the dark haired stranger called, leaning back in his seat as we approached. The serious look on his face was chased away by a smile at the sight of El. “Ah, just in time to get me another round!”

El skipped around the table and slid into a seat next to him, her red hair bouncing about her curled horns. She wrapped anarm jovially around his shoulder. “You heard him, Byrgir. A round for everyone.”

Byrgir rose and headed for the bar, shaking his head.

“How’d you train him to do that?” the man under El’s arm asked. “Friends for thirteen years and I don’t think he’s ever once brought me a drink.”

“Bullshit,” El countered immediately, as if it were her usual response to whatever he said. “Crow, this is Halja. A good friend of ours and a talented Sourcerer, Eilith’s apprentice. Halja, this is the infamous Kyrecrow, but everyone knows him as Crow.”

A good friend. I smiled and took a seat across the small wooden table from them. “Nice to meet you, Crow.”

Crow’s eyes met mine, deep brown nearing black, but the hue that was often warm in the eyes of others was cold and sharp in his. Although he smiled, I could feel his assessment of me. Calculating, intelligent. I did my best to hold his gaze without squirming.

His black hair was tightly braided in three rows sweeping back over the top of his head, the sides of which were shaved close to his chocolaty-olive skin. Beneath his black shirt, tattooed runes climbed his neck all the way to his jawline, and a small dagger decorated his cheekbone just below his right eye. More tattoos wove down his hands and fingers –– intricate, beautiful, dark. They reminded me of Byrgir’s hand tattoos, although Crow’s were an entirely different style, one I did not recognize. I wondered who had gotten them first, him or Byrgir.

“Talented Sourcerer, eh? Good, we need more of those around here. Most of ’em ain’t worth shit,” he answered, his countenance unreadable following his initial assessment of me. El rolled her eyes and Crow followed up with, “Nice to meet you too, Halja. Always helpful to have more folks around to keep El busy. With Byrgir gone now, I’m the only one forced to listen to her yammering.”

El punched his shoulder and opened her mouth to counter, but he spoke first, eyes still on me.

“Byrgir told me you got mixed up in this shit too.” His tone was light, but I read distrust in his eyes. I shifted in my seat, disarmed by both his cutting gaze and his handsome face.

Byrgir returned with four large mugs of ale held carefully by their handles.

“I did” I replied. “Then Byrgir dragged me here against my will.”

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