Page 15 of Swordheart #1

Halla approached the door of the public house with her heart in her throat.

She knew she shouldn’t be scared—she hadn’t done anything, and if anybody asked, she’d explain about Malva and the locked door—but her nerves still jangled.

What if they were looking for her, and dragged her back to Rutger’s Howe?

What if they’d been told she was mad or an accomplice or a criminal herself?

What if Roderick had died and the constables were looking for a murderer?

Stop, she told herself firmly. You’re being ridiculous. You care very much because it’s your life, but most people won’t care in the slightest about Aunt Malva and Cousin Alver and your stupid inheritance. Everyone’s got their own troubles and nobody wants to get involved in yours.

This was all undoubtedly true, and yet the door of the public house loomed in front of her like a castle gate. The sign over the door was a pig with a mug of ale, and the words “The Drunken Boar” crudely carved underneath.

She shook herself. This is ridiculous. How did I get so far outside of my normal life that I’m frightened to go in and buy a meal?

That was exactly what it felt like, though.

As if she had stepped to one side of the world and now her life was running in strange, shadowy parallel.

She had been in the normal world where Silas was alive and she slept in her normal bed and got up in the morning and ran the million little tasks of a household, and now she had fallen into a world where she slept in hedgerows in the arms of an enchanted sword, and tried not to be so helpless that he’d hold her in contempt.

A world where she listened for constables coming for her, where she was worth more money than she’d even imagined and still only had a few coins to her name.

It’s all the same world. And you just have to get through this bit and everything will go back to normal.

She didn’t quite believe that was possible. Could the world simply snap back into place that easily?

Why shouldn’t it?

She opened the door and stepped inside.

It was early enough in the morning that a few guests were eating breakfast. They glanced up at her as she entered… and then looked away, uninterested.

Halla felt invisible and nearly fainted with relief.

Then the warmth of the fireplace hit her, and she thought she really would faint. It was glorious.

She pulled the door shut behind her and marched up to the counter to order breakfast.

The publican took her order, took her coin, and gestured her to a seat by the fire. “Ye look cold,” he said.

“I am freezing, ” she said.

“Brisk out, aye.”

“Well, it’s that time of year.”

“Oh aye, aye. Ye come far?”

“Just out from Amalcross,” she lied.

“Long way to walk.”

“Ah well. Got no horse to carry me.”

“Ah, but it means ye’ve no horse to feed.”

“There’s that.”

Pleasantries thus concluded, she sank into one of the chairs by the fire.

I may never move from this spot.

She stared into the flames. Red-orange tongues licked the underside of the logs, scaled like a lizard in white and black ash. Her cold feet began to tingle painfully as they warmed. Halla grimaced, but at least it kept her from falling asleep on the spot.

It was only a moment before a serving woman came out with bread stuffed with spiced meat and potatoes and a tankard of cider. Halla forgot her feet, forgot her woes, and fell on the food like a starving dog.

It wasn’t even good meat. It was stringy and tough and probably from a milch cow that had gone too far past her prime. Halla didn’t care. It was amazing.

Afterward, she slumped in the chair, trying not to fall asleep, aware that she should get up and keep moving, but it was warm and the chair was so soft …

“Hello…?”

Halla realized her eyelids had been closed and sat up quickly.

The woman who spoke was smaller than she was, not young, with a lined face and gray-streaked black hair. She had dark eyes with wrinkles fanned out from the corners.

“Hello,” said Halla. “I wasn’t asleep. Um, okay, I was sort of asleep, but let’s pretend I wasn’t.”

“I’m sorry to bother you. I just saw another woman and I… well, you know.” The woman glanced over her shoulder at the rest of the room, full of men eating quietly, paying no attention.

Halla nodded. She did indeed know.

“It can be difficult for a woman on the road alone,” said the woman.

“That’s the truth,” said Halla. “My name’s Halla.”

“I’m Mina.”

They sat while the serving woman brought Mina cider. She wrapped her hands around the mug to warm them.

“Have you been traveling long?” asked Mina finally. She looked over her shoulder again, as if expecting pursuit.

“A few days.” Halla felt suddenly better about the whole thing. Traveling. She’d been traveling. Not staggering through hedgerows with aching feet, after a man who probably thought she couldn’t find her way out of a paper sack without help.

Traveling. I am a traveler. I will look back on this someday and be worldly and jaded—“Oh, yes, my dears, I was a great traveler when I was middle-aged. I saw many exotic hedgerows and was manhandled into ditches all across this great land.”

Mina smiled uncertainly, and Halla realized that she’d been smirking at her own thoughts. “And you?”

“Oh,” said Mina, her smile fading. “It feels like a long time. Probably longer than it really was.” She stared into her mug.

Halla nodded. Sadly, this reminded her that she, too, had a destination, and she should probably get moving. She started to rise from her chair.

Mina held out a hand. “Ah… Miss Halla? I… ah. Would you mind if we left together?” She glanced over her shoulder again. “I’d rather no one know I was traveling alone. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

Halla’s heart went out to her. “Of course not. Whenever you’re ready.”

She put the mug down. “Now is fine. I just wanted to stop and get warm. I don’t mean to keep you waiting.”

Halla got to her feet, rearranged her cloak, and picked up the enchanted sword.

“Is that your sword?” asked Mina, her eyes going round.

“Oh, no!” said Halla, and then, “Well, sort of. I guess it’s mine, but it’s really a friend’s.” She shrugged herself into it, tugging her cloak free of the straps. It did get easier with practice.

“I suppose if you’re waving a big sword around, you’re not so worried about someone attacking you.”

“If I waved this sword around, I’d probably cut my head off,” said Halla cheerfully. “No, I’m just carrying it. It’s a long story.”

They left the inn together, chatting amiably. No one followed them, so far as Halla could tell.

They walked along the side of the road together. Sarkis would have been wary, probably scoping out nearby ditches, but Halla pushed the thought out of her mind. If anyone is looking, it’s for a man and a woman, not two women. Or one woman. Technically, I’ve been kidnapped, I think.

Undoubtedly, Cousin Alver would have spun it that way to the constables, since, “My cousin ran off with a strange man rather than marry me,” would have been an unforgivable blow to his pride.

She didn’t mention any of this to Mina.

After a time, the other woman fell silent. She looked over her shoulder repeatedly, as if she was running away from someone.

“Are you all right?” asked Halla.

“Aye, fine.” She sounded curt.

Frightened, Halla thought, a bit sadly. She wondered if it was a man, then snorted at her own foolishness. Of course it’s a man. It always is.

“Do you need to go your own way?” she asked. “Get off the road a bit, perhaps?”

“Not just yet,” said Mina, glancing over her shoulder again. “But… aye, off the road is not a bad thought.”

They found a break in the hedgerow, on the far side of the ditch. Halla paused, not entirely willing, but the other woman gestured to her to go first.

I don’t know what you’re worried about. You’ve been sleeping in hedgerows. You crapped in one this morning, while Sarkis tried to pretend that he was bird-watching. It’s not like you don’t know them intimately by now.

Halla shook herself mentally and crossed the ditch.

She’d barely stepped around the hedge when a shadow loomed up before her.

“Mina!” cried Halla, backing away. “There’s someone here!”

“Good,” said Mina. Her voice sounded different suddenly: sharp and irritated, without a trace of fear. “Took you long enough to show up. I thought I’d have to walk halfway to Archon’s Glory.”

The figure grunted and stepped forward.

It was a man. He was taller than Sarkis, though not as broad. He had a very large knife in his hands, the sort used to gut deer.

“Um,” said Halla, eyes fixed on the knife. “Mina? Is this a friend of yours?”

Mina gave a loud, derisive snort.

“I’ll be having your money now,” said the man.

“You what?” said Halla.

“Your money,” said the man. “Give it to me.”

“My… oh gods! Are you robbing me?” She wheeled around and stared at Mina. “Wait, you came out here with me so you could rob me?”

“Not real quick on the uptake, are you?”

Halla flushed with embarrassment. Here she’d been thinking about being a great traveler, and she couldn’t even get robbed correctly. Traveler. She was a country bumpkin who’d been to a real city three times in her life. What was she thinking?

The man gestured with the knife, and fear rushed in and joined the embarrassment. “Give me your money, there’s a good girl,” he said, advancing on her. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I don’t want you to hurt me, either!” said Halla, backing away. “But I don’t have much money, and I need it. I’ll starve!”

“Not my problem,” said the man. He gestured with the knife.

“Get the sword, too,” said Mina from behind him. “It’s probably worth something.”

“No!”

Halla had almost forgotten the sword.

For one instant she thought, Maybe it would be better to be robbed than to let Sarkis see how stupid I just was, and then good sense prevailed. She grabbed the hilt over her shoulder and tried to claw it free. “Sarkis! Sarkis, help!”

At the same moment, she tripped on a tree root and fell over backward.