Page 20 of The Witch's Shifter
Light on my feet, I continue along the water, getting closer to Moonstone Lake with every step. Could Faolan have traveled that far?
And could his pack be around here somewhere?
I feel foolish for not getting more information from him when I had the chance; it would’ve been a good idea to ask him where he’s from. I’m not aware of any packs in this area—King Jorvick likes to stay up-to-date on the different groups of shifters and where they reside within his kingdom—but that doesn’t mean they couldn’t be out here searching for Faolan, or perhaps seeking a new place to live. And if one shifter makes me nervous, I certainly don’t want to face a whole pack of them. My sword would be nigh on useless against such overwhelming power.
With that thought running through my mind, I begin scanning the cliffsides once more. Is Faolan up there, watching me? Is his pack? Are they waiting to ambush me?
As the storm draws closer, the shadows beneath the trees grow darker, and I realize with a jolt that I’d not be able to see a wolf even if it were standing in the forest staring right back at me.
A raindrop pelts me in the neck, then slides under the collar of my tunic and traces a frigid path down my back. I shiver.
It starts slowly at first—one raindrop here, another there. But then, like so many autumn storms do, it unleashes its fury in one fell swoop. Icy raindrops thunder down around me, striking the stones and water with such unrelenting force that the sound drowns out everything else.
Pulling up my hood, I abandon my search for signs of Faolan and instead begin seeking shelter. The rain and cold have created a gray mist. I can only see about twenty paces ahead, and the cliffsides towering above me are soon obscured by fog.
Brilliant. Absolutely wonderful.
By some incredible stroke of luck, I spot an outcropping of rock through the rain and head toward it. I’ll shelter from the storm, perhaps have a bite to eat. I’d rather not be stuck out here all night, though I do have a bedroll, just in case. Didn’t think I’d need it, but it never hurts to be overprepared.
The rocks are slick with rainwater, and I have to tread carefully to avoid slipping. Even now, the rain is coming down harder, striking the earth with all its might.
The outcropping is located slightly above me, so it takes some scrambling through the mud and loose stones to climb toward it. When I finally ascend the incline, I find a cave waiting for me, its mouth opening to darkness.
Looks like a den, I think. Immediately, my hand goes for my sword. The hilt is cold from the rain. Once more, I remind myself not to look threatening. If Faolan is in here, I don’t need my sword out as I enter.
Resisting the urge to arm myself, I step into the mouth of the cave and push my dripping hood from my hair. The thin gray light from outside doesn’t do much to permeate the darkness, so I walk slowly, letting my eyes adjust with each step into the chasm.
The roar of rain from outside quiets the deeper I go.
And just when I think the cave is empty, that its dark corners are all vacant, I notice a hunched shape lying as far to the back as it goes, facing the stone wall. The sight of it makes me reach for my sword, but again, I force my hand away.
You’re a knight, I think.Don’t be a coward.
I take a steadying breath, then call into the dark, “Faolan? Is that you?”
The dark shadow shifts, turning slowly to face me, and two blue eyes glare at me through the darkness.
Chapter 14
Alden
“THANK YOU, SIR,” I TELL the driver, reaching into my damp coin purse to pull a few eldertokens out. They clink as they fall into his palm. His horse snorts, probably impatient and ready to return to the warm barn, and the man tips his dripping hat to me. I step out of the way, and the wagon continues on, leaving me standing at the southern entrance to Wysteria. A guardhouse sits to my right, the firelight from inside sending a warm glow out into the misty evening.
After answering the guards’ questions regarding my intentions in the city, I lug my wet pack through the sprawling gates and into the rain-soaked streets. The storm has mostly passed, but it left the air cold, and a chill breeze sends most people hurrying for the warmth of their homes and hearths. Last time I was here, which was years ago now, I stayed at a little tavern called the Dancing Kettle, and I seek it out now, though the darkness makes it noticeably more difficult to make out the names on the signs hanging outside the places of business.
At long last, I find the tavern, and I’m pleased to see candlelight flickering in many of the windows.
The door swings smoothly on its hinges—someone must take pride in this place—and a wall of warm air hits me. It smells of woodsmoke and stew with a hint of spiced ale. In response, my stomach grumbles. The wagon ride to Wysteria typically doesn’t take quite so long, but the rain slowed us considerably, and now I’m half starved.
I shake off the last few drops of rain at the entrance, then make my way to the bar and take a seat. My bag falls heavily at my feet, and my stomach grumbles again as a tavern maid sweeps by carrying a platter of steaming dishes and sloshing mugs. I don’t know what they serve here, but I want it all.
The door into the kitchen swings open, and an older woman with long gray hair steps out. When she sees me, she offers me a gentle smile.
“Evening, traveler.” Her gaze quickly assesses my weary state. “You look like you could use a room.”
“That I could. And a plate of whatever that is, if you can,” I say, glancing over my shoulder at the two men digging into their food.
“Certainly. Would you like a bath prepared for after your meal?”
