Page 70 of Quicksilver

Fisher's throat bobbed. I saw him struggle for words, fighting to force them out of his mouth. “I might fit your cousin's description...on theoutside.I'm honored that he remembered me to you. But...I'm not the male who he fought with at Ajun. I'm sorry, brother. I—”

“You saved the rippling banner of the proud western Annachreich,” the blond warrior interrupted. “At dawn, on the fifth day, you cried against the rising sun and roused our people's hearts so that even those who were ready to pass through the black door turned away from death and found the strength to find their feet. And their bows. And their swords. And their friends. You led the charge on the blood-red mountain—” The warrior's voice cracked.

A tall Fae female stepped to his side, dressed in leather ranger's armor. Her face bore a jagged scar that twisted her lower lip. “At Sinder's Reach, you quelled the horde that threatened to burn everything my people had built. Fifty thousand people. Fifty thousandlives. Temples. Libraries. Schools. Homes. They all still exist today. Because of you.”

A muscle ticked in Kingfisher's jaw. He couldn't meet the female's eyes.

At the bar, one of the Satyrs with the impressive sweeping horns and the shaggy goat-like legs stepped forward. His eyes shone bright, reflecting the flames of the fire roaring in the hearth as he raised his glass to Kingfisher. “Innishtar,” he declared in a deep, gravelly voice. “It wasn't as grand as these others. Just a small town. We weren't kind to you when you came. Then, the Fae and my lot weren’t the allies we are now.But five of you stood against the dark that night. You saved four hundred.Youwere there, too, Renfis of the Orithian.”

Ren inclined his head, his dark eyes sad. “I remember,” he said softly.

The satyr lifted his glass a little higher, first to Ren and then to Kingfisher. “A lifetime of thanks to you both for what you did. Though it’ll never be enough.Sarrush.” He pressed the glass to his lips and tossed back the amber liquid inside.

“Sarrush!”

“Sarrush!”

Around the bar, a cup or a glass went up in every single patron's hand. They all cried out the word. They all drank.

“You saved the bridge at Lothbrock.”

“You held Turrordan Pass until the snows came.”

“You fought Malcolm on the banks of the Darn until the river flowed black with their blood.”

Again and again, the tavern's patrons stood and spoke. It seemed all of them had a story. Kingfisher stood mute, his throat working. Eventually, he couldn't maintain his silence anymore. “I'm not...I'm just...” His eyes were distant. “That was alongtime ago. That person doesn't exist anymore.” He charged past the Fae warrior still kneeling at his feet, flung open the tavern door, and disappeared into the night.

I stared after him, unable to comprehend what I’d just seen and heard. All of this, for Kingfisher. KingfisherandRen. So many stories of valiant battles and impossible odds. From the way the two males had reacted when they'd first realized they'd been recognized, I'd thought we were about to be attacked. But that couldn't have been any further from the truth. To me, Kingfisher was a surly, foul-mouthed bastard who I wouldn't piss on even if he was on fire.

To everyone inside this tavern, he was a living fucking god.

16

SHADOW GATE

A gatewayto hell awaited us in the clearing outside.

The spiraling maw of shadow and smoke was small. Only big enough to swallow a horse, perhaps. Convenient, since Kingfisher stood in front of it with Bill, Aida, and Ren's bay mount. Carrion's limp body was already slumped over Bill's haunches. He'd misplaced a boot somewhere between the barn and the clearing, and Fisher obviously hadn't deemed the loss important enough to do anything about it. I didn't care much about Swift's missing boot, either; I was too busy staring at the whirling black vortex behind Fisher to register much of anything else at all.

The way it pulled at the light, drawing the orange glow from the tavern's windows toward it, twisting it into fine threads that it sucked into the spinning singularity in its center made me want to back away from it very, very slowly. I'd put Onyx back into the bag before leaving the tavern, but I could feel him shaking against my spine as if he could sense the strange force through the burlap and didn't like it one bit.

Gusts of wind whipped at Kingfisher's dark waves, tossing them about his face. The silver gorget was back at his throat. Itglinted, the wolf's head engraving fiercer than ever. After how he'd just behaved back in the tavern, I expected to find Fisher in a raging temper, but his face was blank, his shoulders relaxed as he handed me Aida's reins and turned to face the wall of twisting smoke. “Let's get this over with,” he said quietly. “You'll follow Ren. I'll be right behind you.”

The hairs stood up on my arms. “I'm—I'm not walking into that. Whatisit?”

“It's a shadow gate. A means to an end. You can use this, or you can spend the next two months on horseback, sleeping in snowy ditches and scavenging for your dinner. What'll it be?”

“I'll take the second option.” I didn't even need to think about it. My ass would get used to a saddle eventually, and the cloak Kingfisher had given me was excellent at keeping out the cold. I'd spent half my life hunting for my own dinner amongst Zilvaren's sand dunes. And besides, I had no interest in heading into a war zone. Delaying our arrival at Cahlish seemed like a fantastic option.

Fisher pursed his lips. “Let me rephrase that. You're going through the gate, human.”

I took a step back, dropping Aida's reins. “I'm not.”

Kingfisher considered me, one eyebrow curving with interest. “Are you thinking about running? Gods, I hope so. I'll give you a head start if you like. It's been an age since I'vehuntedanything.”

“Come on, Fisher,” Ren said wearily, slipping on a pair of leather gloves. “She's scared. Give her a moment to adjust to the idea.”

“I'm not scared,” I lied. “I'm just not going through that thing. I'll probably never make it out of the other side.”