Page 34 of Aubade Rising

The following night, the river narrows to a stream where I can nearly touch both sides of the bank.

Without warning, Eskar pulls over and declares this is the furthest we can go by boat before climbing out and collapsing on the ground, exhausted.

I agree. Each night the impact of constantly wielding his magic and draining himself to the verge of burn out before sleeping on a cold floor, has taken its toll on him.

And now he’s reached his limit. We’ve been rationing portions so we’re also low on food: the little we have won’t last much longer.

We hide the little boat a short way inland and mark the trunk of the closest tree by gouging into the bark so we can find it again if the villagers are as unfriendly as Haelyn warned.

Eskar sleeps until dawn. I keep watch in the darkness, twitching at the snapping of branches and the rustling of needles on the tall pines but we’re left alone.

The walk to Tanwen takes all day and our feet ache by the time we approach the town gates.

The small town is bleak, barely distinguishable through the wooded pines and disappearing into the blackness.

A high wall wraps round it, the sides made from rough wooden vertical planks, their tips uneven and pointed.

It couldn’t look less welcoming. I almost consider risking another night in the forest.

Thankfully, darkness cloaks us as we wander towards the inn Haelyn described.

Every road we walk down is deserted; every crossroad bare.

The wooden houses and buildings have small windows and closed curtains, discouraging unwanted callers.

The revolting smell of rotting hay, or actually mould, permeates my hair, my clothing, everything we are carrying.

It turns my stomach. The air is damp and I suspect the thatched roofs are the source of the odour.

No part of me wants to stay long in this awful place.

The only familiarity is the stone aqueduct high above the wooden ramparts, holding judgement over the town.

I’ve never been to the end of an aqueduct before.

This one has a watchtower protecting the underground bore that feeds the water source, the creaking algae-covered metal pipe reaching out of the ground.

With little signage, we walk past the inn twice before finally identifying it.

It’s quiet inside; a lone barmaid polishes glassware behind the bar.

She looks up, surprised. “We’re closed.” A sharp, suspicious tone and an unwelcome stance.

I doubt we look like patrons they would welcome here.

The inn is shabby at best but we look considerably worse.

Even with the empty tables and wonky chairs, it looks serviceable enough. Cleaner and dryer than camping. I’d come to regret not making the most of the bed at Eskar’s apartment in Cathair and this will be a brief respite before we venture out to the Haag.

Eskar steps forward into the light from candles swinging in glass holders above, keeping some of his features slightly in shadow.“We’re looking for rooms.” I tense at this. Given our reception in Cathair, perhaps the Governor or the traitor at court has influence here too.

She freezes and looks at us a second time, taking stock of what’s underneath the grime. Putting the glass down, she comes round the bar. “You’re not from around here.”

“Is that going to be a problem?” Eskar crosses his arms.

She huffs. I’ve never seen anyone less thrilled to do business. My body sags with relief. She isn’t keen to house us. I doubt she’d be so reluctant if she was working on someone else’s orders.

“Wait here,” she gestures to an empty table by the unlit fireplace.

Eskar gestures not to talk; he’s tense and wary too.

Finally, when the rooms are ready, he does a thorough search of mine, checks out of the window, up and down the street, before deeming the room safe enough. His room is across the corridor.

Once we’ve settled in, we make a plan. Eskar is keen to leave tomorrow, before word of our arrival spreads through the town.

We’ll stock up on food from the market in the morning before travelling into the Haag. Until then, I sink into the lumpy mattress with scratchy sheets and breathe a sigh of relief. We are somewhat safe at last.

The market is bleak. A cluster of broken, barren stalls and the people manning them don’t look much better. They line the street unspeaking and unwelcoming. The childrens’ drawn faces hint at a hard winter that has taken its toll. Spring hasn’t arrived here yet.

Eyes follow our progress from stall to stall, hungry for information and our money.

With no other customers and the majority of stands empty, we pick our way through the slim offerings.

There’s one baker’s stall; the bread looks stale and flat.

The townsperson manning it seems more like a guard, silently challenging us to comment on the selection, arms crossed.

Tension is thick in the air, as if the people of Tanwen are spoiling for a fight and will relish the violence, exactly as Haelyn warned.

We pay for some loaves, not even trying to haggle.

This was a bad move; the baker’s forearm flexes menacingly, not moving to package our purchases.

Mouth dry, I try to apologise but Eskar interrupts, explaining we are not trying to patronise but have questions about the Haag that maybe he can answer.

Mollified, but by no means forgiving, the baker takes our money, counting the coins twice before acknowledging us again.

Eskar changes tack, asking about the market, how often it meets, whether we’re the only strangers in town.

Patience running thin, the surly man points down the road with a rough grunt.

“Speak to Sal, don’t go asking more questions round here. ”

He points to the least dilapidated building in the town and I nod in thanks and start to walk away. Eskar stops me from making my way there and pulls me back to the inn, his hand gripping my forearm tightly.

As we leave the market I turn back, seeing a crowd congregating round the baker’s stall.

“Why aren’t we going to speak to this Sal person now?”

“We’re being set up. See how the baker was unsurprised by my questions, despite the barmaid being unprepared for our arrival. Word’s got out.” He’s increased his pace and I hurry to match it. “We need to leave now.”

“How can you be so sure?”

He stops and turns, looking down at me with stormy eyes, fixing me to the spot. “Because I’ve been here before, I know how this works.” He glances over to the alley as if he senses movement. “You have everything with you?”

“Yes, I left nothing behind, like you said.”

“Good. Keep walking behind me and be ready to run.”

More running. My heart pounds and I double-check the straps on my rucksack, pulling it more securely round my shoulders.

Everything is calm and deserted until we pass the inn.

The breeze, previously unobtrusive other than pushing the stench round the town, becomes stronger, gusting debris and rubbish along the road, trapping it in doorways.

The further east through the town we head, the stronger it becomes.

I struggle to hear anything other than the roaring as it becomes a strong gale.

Eskar ploughs forward, not giving in to the temptation to see if we are being followed until we hit the town wall.

Two men appear from the stone archway protecting the town from the mists beyond.

No uniform or insignia to indicate who they work for, but both are armed with long, shining silver daggers.

From the scars littering their hands, I guess they are familiar with using them.

I risk turning my head to see if less danger is behind us.

Four people stride purposely towards us from that direction, drawing intricate movements with their hands.

They are unencumbered by the gusts and are easily gaining ground.

Zephyrs. Powerful ones with no regard for breaking the Difan.

If this is the people of Tanwen caught unawares, then they’ve done a good job of springing a trap with no preparation.

Eskar sees the threat from both directions.

“Run!”

The word rips sharply from his lips and hits me as fiercely as the wind.

I ignore the madness of heading towards our potential attackers and break into a sprint.

Legs pumping and arms pounding we charge towards the town wall, no weapons between us.

We battle the wind, which feels like running through treacle.

With feet to spare, the smallest of hand gestures by Eskar, so minuscule and precise I nearly miss them, causes the two attackers to drop their knives.

A moment later, they screech, falling to the ground, writhing in agony.

My body runs cold as I absorb their screams, and I force my eyes open, my body to keep running, to remember I’m not back in the dungeons and the pain is not mine.

There are no visible marks on their skin as we pass them by.

Then their screams stop. No footsteps follow us.

We emerge through the gap in the wall and cross to a barren field where a dark grey mist hangs over the ground, obscuring it from view. We run until the damp air falls over us, cloaking us from the town, the rest of the world disappearing into nothing.

Slowing to a walk and coming to a stop before we get too disoriented in the thickening mists, we wait to see if we have been followed.

My harsh, rasping breath rings through the air as I struggle to recover but we don’t hear another sound.

Eskar’s breathing is shallow, his face white and taut with regret.

Another part of him damaged at causing pain to others, even in our own defence.