“They are like lanterns that blink. They are relaying your arrival so that you will not be shot.”
“Who are you?”
“We are the guard,” he said, his face barely visible beneath the dense coat of leafy strands. “We watch for signs of trouble from the trees.”
“You live up there?”
The man laughed. “No, but it does feel that way at times.”
“What about the Wilds?”
The man cocked his head a bit. “What is this Wilds?”
“The place between here and Bollingbrook,” she said. “It’s where I came through.”
Vana muttered something and Alexei leaned toward her. “Ah,” he said. “Your Wilds do not trouble us. We have… an agreement… maybe the wrong word. We do not bother the spirits and they do not bother us.”
The forest spilled out onto a muddy road, flanked on either side by dense woods. Alexei turned to her as Vana left, vanishing into the forest.
He pointed toward the river. “There is Lassimir. I suggest you do your best to make friends.”
“Wait,” she said as he turned to go. “Just me? All alone?”
His shaded eyes glanced between her and Orrin. “You must understand something, Skyla,” he said. “There are many people from nearby cities who do not wish to see Lassimir exist. We are large as a city, but we are not recognized. For me to let you this far, you are very lucky. I will hope you do well.”
And with a couple steps the forest engulfed the man until all that remained were the rustling of branches and leaves in the wind.
“Already we’re making friends,” she said to Orrin, who squawked from her shoulder.
*
The Hungry Skunk was one of the few solid buildings within miles of Lassimir. Unlike most structures near the river, made from cloth and rope, the tavern was a solid—if swaying—building of stonework and thick beams, a sagging roof and cobbled chimney. Several windows had been broken and replaced with new panes that didn’t quite fit, the residents doing what they could to preserve one of the few permanent monuments of the growing settlement.
Marley, the proprietor and second oldest monument to the city, rubbed a dirty dishcloth over the surface of a wood counter, his hand encrusted with massive steel rings. His head was a hairless dome, encircled by a scar running from eye to ear, his mustache a thick white horseshoe which twitched as he scowled, annoyed not for the first time by the only other person in the tavern, Half-Dale, who sat on a nearby stool.
Watching the man drink, Marley worked his way down to a mug at the end of the counter, which he cleaned while glowering at the man. He grumbled something incoherent as he jammed the dishrag into the cracked mug, scrubbing it furiously.
Dale simply stared at his pint, his mind somewhere else, his twisted stump of an arm tucked beneath a ragged uniform. He gave Marley a sideways glance and flashed a smile.
“But I provide so much needed companionship. I help you dispose of this swill so that you don’t throw it out and poison the trees. And I scare away the customers… the pretty ones anyway.”
He smiled and slid the empty glass across to Marley who picked it up and began washing it, a deep, seismic grumble emanating from his throat. He glared at Dale.
“For all the free beer I’ve given you, I might as well add you to the payroll.”
Dale held up his left arm, it bent dramatically at the wrist, the fingers crooked. “I’d love to help.”
Marley mumbled something as his scar turned white against his flushed head. He looked away from the man as he focused on polishing the glass, tiny in his enormous hand.
“I ain’t running a charity,” he growled. “Go sweep.”
“Too drunk.”
“Go push in a chair.”
“Too easy. As if you couldn’t do that yourself.”
“Then pick up a dammed rag and rub it on something, you sad sack. Go find something to make yourself useful.”
Dale gave him a tired grin. “If you’re just going to scream again, I’ll just take my business
“Who are you?”
“We are the guard,” he said, his face barely visible beneath the dense coat of leafy strands. “We watch for signs of trouble from the trees.”
“You live up there?”
The man laughed. “No, but it does feel that way at times.”
“What about the Wilds?”
The man cocked his head a bit. “What is this Wilds?”
“The place between here and Bollingbrook,” she said. “It’s where I came through.”
Vana muttered something and Alexei leaned toward her. “Ah,” he said. “Your Wilds do not trouble us. We have… an agreement… maybe the wrong word. We do not bother the spirits and they do not bother us.”
The forest spilled out onto a muddy road, flanked on either side by dense woods. Alexei turned to her as Vana left, vanishing into the forest.
He pointed toward the river. “There is Lassimir. I suggest you do your best to make friends.”
“Wait,” she said as he turned to go. “Just me? All alone?”
His shaded eyes glanced between her and Orrin. “You must understand something, Skyla,” he said. “There are many people from nearby cities who do not wish to see Lassimir exist. We are large as a city, but we are not recognized. For me to let you this far, you are very lucky. I will hope you do well.”
And with a couple steps the forest engulfed the man until all that remained were the rustling of branches and leaves in the wind.
“Already we’re making friends,” she said to Orrin, who squawked from her shoulder.
*
The Hungry Skunk was one of the few solid buildings within miles of Lassimir. Unlike most structures near the river, made from cloth and rope, the tavern was a solid—if swaying—building of stonework and thick beams, a sagging roof and cobbled chimney. Several windows had been broken and replaced with new panes that didn’t quite fit, the residents doing what they could to preserve one of the few permanent monuments of the growing settlement.
Marley, the proprietor and second oldest monument to the city, rubbed a dirty dishcloth over the surface of a wood counter, his hand encrusted with massive steel rings. His head was a hairless dome, encircled by a scar running from eye to ear, his mustache a thick white horseshoe which twitched as he scowled, annoyed not for the first time by the only other person in the tavern, Half-Dale, who sat on a nearby stool.
Watching the man drink, Marley worked his way down to a mug at the end of the counter, which he cleaned while glowering at the man. He grumbled something incoherent as he jammed the dishrag into the cracked mug, scrubbing it furiously.
Dale simply stared at his pint, his mind somewhere else, his twisted stump of an arm tucked beneath a ragged uniform. He gave Marley a sideways glance and flashed a smile.
“But I provide so much needed companionship. I help you dispose of this swill so that you don’t throw it out and poison the trees. And I scare away the customers… the pretty ones anyway.”
He smiled and slid the empty glass across to Marley who picked it up and began washing it, a deep, seismic grumble emanating from his throat. He glared at Dale.
“For all the free beer I’ve given you, I might as well add you to the payroll.”
Dale held up his left arm, it bent dramatically at the wrist, the fingers crooked. “I’d love to help.”
Marley mumbled something as his scar turned white against his flushed head. He looked away from the man as he focused on polishing the glass, tiny in his enormous hand.
“I ain’t running a charity,” he growled. “Go sweep.”
“Too drunk.”
“Go push in a chair.”
“Too easy. As if you couldn’t do that yourself.”
“Then pick up a dammed rag and rub it on something, you sad sack. Go find something to make yourself useful.”
Dale gave him a tired grin. “If you’re just going to scream again, I’ll just take my business
Similar Books
